


Uncanny X-Men 1943

by stellarose



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emma Frost HBIC, Family Dynamics, Gen, Team as Family, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 44,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarose/pseuds/stellarose
Summary: X-Men AU. Emma Frost runs Division X, a classified squad within the secretive Special Operations Executive based in London. It isn't their job to win the war, only to save those they can. Emma's squad of Psylocke, Angel, Logan and Fantomex set out of rescue three mutants trapped in occupied and increasingly hostile France.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an AU story, so some aspects of characters have been changed to fit the story and the time in which it's set. I am also uploading this onto ff.net.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the names of characters, etc. These belong to Marvel.
> 
> Please read, reply, leave kudos and enjoy! Your patronage is very much appreciated.

November 1943.

Special Operations Executive

Baker Street

London

 

AKA: The Baker Street Irregulars

 

If anyone asks, this place doesn’t exist. Ask anyone who works here. They’ll swear black and blue that they’re a secretary at the Foreign Office. Anyone who receives that as an answer knows better than to keep asking.

 

Division X. Now, this place really doesn’t exist. If one should have the correct security clearance, and the person you’re asking has the information, they will be able to inform you that Mrs Emma Summers managed to get her own division by her powers of persuasion. It is to be noted that persuasion here means telepathy and very tight shirts. Emma is her own boss, but there will be no medals, awards and celebratory dinners should her team succeed, and no one to clean the mess up should the situation go south. Emma is on her own. But in a way, she always has been. Especially here. A married woman with children running a military crack team? Of course she’s alone. Who would want to deal with the fall out of that?

 

~

 

Emma looked at the papers on her desk. Through a variety of channels, word reached her of three mutants stranded in an increasingly hostile Lyon, and in rather urgent need of extraction, not least because were known operatives within the Resistance. The Gestapo were doubling their efforts in the area, and Emma had heard enough tales of what happens when mutants get caught. 

At the top of her list was Remy LeBeau, born in southern France, a petty thief, able write a Michelin guide to the prisons of his birth region if he had the inclination, suddenly went “clean” in ’38. Most of the prisons he was incarcerated in during the 30’s Remy also escaped from, authorities believing him to be some sort of munitions expert, but Emma’s resources told her there was a lot more to the man than that. 

Second on the list was a woman know as Anne-Marie, an American who calls herself “Rogue”. She disappeared from an orphanage at age of 13, then popped in France 10 years later, but what she did during the years in-between is a mystery. Once arriving in Marseilles, and has become quite the partner to M. LeBeau. Her power set, as far as Emma understood, was to borrow the powers of anyone she touched, which sounded wonderfully useful for an operative. 

The third and final unfortunate mutant was a former society girl from a prominent family, Monet St Croix. Most of the large St Croix family had already been detained and interred by the Gestapo, and her awful, literally life-sucking brother Marius had switched sides, and was now dressing in grey, hunting his own sister and the other remaining mutants in Lyon. Notes on Monet included as much on the brother, if not more. Emma hoped he’d rot in hell. 

Emma closed the folder, took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. It should be easy enough. On paper it was straight forward. Two nobodies and a stroppy girl. She went to find her secretary Miss Lee to get a her cup of tea and have the required telegrams sent. As usual, time would not be their friend. Why couldn’t she find anyone with time-manipulating powers?

The following morning a meeting was planned with Emma’s team, only there was an anomaly with the paperwork.

“Miss Lee?” Emma called to her secretary.

“Yes, Miss Frost?” Here in X-Division, Emma was always referred to by her code name of “Miss Frost”. Mrs Summers was left at the door.

“Did you check these files?”

“They’re all there, ma’am. I checked.”

“Look at this,” Emma said, holding out the file for operative known as Fantomex. The other three members of the squad Emma had worked with before. Only the Frenchman was a new addition.

“Umm…” Miss Lee looked over the file.

“What’s his surname?”

“Umm…”

“No…”

“It - it just says “Jean-Philippe”, ma’am.”

“Yes,” said Emma, “So that roughly narrows him down to being one of about two million Frenchmen. And his powerset?”

“It, umm - doesn’t say, ma’am. Just ‘mutant’.”

“Go back to the mailroom and find out what imbecile couldn’t send us the file with the bloody form filled out correctly. With the sort of help you get, anyone would think there’s a war going on and anyone competent is otherwise occupied or dead.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Miss Lee said, knowing better than to take Emma’s words to heart, and hurrying down the hallway with the folder. As much as Emma loved bureaucracy, she was quite knew there wasn’t time for it now.

At half past ten, her team was gathered. Leading the team, and by far the most capable, was telepath-telekinetic Lady Elizabeth Braddock, AKA “Psylocke”, rich and titled, with a stupid purple rinse which made her dark hair shine violet in the sun. Betsy’s consort, the winged Warren Worthington III, AKA “Angel”, an American heir and possibly the most attractive man currently this side of the Atlantic, was Elizabeth’s second. The two married in secret in ’39 at the outbreak of war. Not for money matters, as individually they both have more than enough of that, but more for civil and legal reasons. Only about half a dozen people were aware of the union - Emma being one of them.

The final two members of the ground team were the short, burly Canadian volunteer James “Logan” Howlett, healing factor, claws, and the mysterious French soldier Jean-Philippe, AKA “Fantomex”, who was lucky enough to be evacuated from Dunkirk, only to find himself in another country where he was less than welcome. Emma would have happily just send Betsy, Warren and Logan, but higher command had insisted that Jean-Philippe be included for matters of util-national co-operation, though she had a feeling that Fantomex was more of a nuisance than asset. So long as he didn’t prove to be a liability, she would have to accept his inclusion.

The team was gathered, and the mission explained, the stakes explained, the fake identities and French currency handed out, along with train tickets to the airfield where they will find their transport. 

Emma called Lady Elizabeth aside once they were done. 

“Everything all right?” Elizabeth asked.

“Keep an eye on the Frenchman.”

“Any specific reason? Or he’s just a bit dodgy? His eyes do rather wander.”

“His paper trail doesn’t check out,” Emma said, also having noticed Fantomex’s wandering gaze. “I’m hoping it’s just a clerical error, but until we’re sure…”

“Understood. Got your best and brightest on the case, I assume?”

“Oh, she’s one of the brightest, I’ll give her that.”

Elizabeth gave Emma a small smile. “See you in a couple of days.”

Emma fiddled with paper work until lunchtime, then decided to give herself the afternoon off. It took long enough to get home with intermittent train timetables, and constant destruction of the transportation Networks.

Her husband Scott, also a mutant with optic blasts, worked in a much more transparent branch of the British Government, recruiting and training mutants to the Allied cause. It had to be better than persecution, torture and death on the Continent. Emma had met a then recently widowed Scott on a trip to America in 1930, when they’d quickly fallen in love, married, and then moved to Britain, allowing a new start for Scott and his two children, Rachel and Nathan. Emma sat on the train, watching the houses flash by. She had bore Scott twin daughters, Sophie and Celeste, some eight years past, and in ’38 had taken in a mutant-Jewish girl, Katherine Pryde, who was part of the Kindertransport. Kitty and Rachel had immediately teamed up, and had been inseparable, and, Emma thought, often quite insufferable, ever since. 

“You’re home early,” Rachel said as Emma entered the house.

“So are you,” Emma replied, pulling off her coat. 

“No, we just got home. Normal time. Is dad coming home early, too?”

“I doubt it,” Emma said, wishing Rachel would leave her alone.

“Is something happening?”

“No.”

“Can I help? Is it with your job? I could help. I’m very good at - ”

“No,” Emma said sternly. “You are not getting involved in the war. Hopefully the whole damn thing will be over before any of you are old enough. Go and do your homework or something. And tell Nathan not to leave his shoes all over the hallway!”

Emma marched into the kitchen. She didn’t need to look at Rachel to see her rolling her eyes and pulling a face, but Emma wasn’t in the mood to berate her. Rachel was sixteen and Kitty would be too by the end of the year, and Nathan just turned 15, and Emma had no control over how much longer the war would go. Rachel and Nathan were both telepath-telekinetics, just like their mother, and Rachel’s skills in particular were extraordinary. Emma had told Scott, and he’d been concerned. Emma trained her step-children when she could, but power-training from your step-mother, no matter how talented she is, is never going to cut it for a couple of youths. Rachel would make a huge difference to Emma’s squad, but there was no way she was going to allow the girl on her team. 

Emma sat alone in the kitchen, frustrated that she had snapped at Rachel, frustrated with the incomplete files on the latest member of her squad, frustrated at the whole situation. She could hear the thoughts and sounds of the children upstairs, and felt terribly alone, wishing she was boarding the plane to France.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When characters are psi-speaking to one another, I use // instead of talking marks.

Despite being the middle of the night, the airfield was awash with Royal Air Force crew, managing the planes and pilots on their assorted sorties across the Channel. No one had time nor reason to look twice at the civilian-clad team, and if they should, knew better than to ask.

“Ah, the beautiful mademoiselle is here to see us on our way, but not dear Miss Frost? Nevertheless, enjoy what one has, huh?” Fantomex said as he approached the plane. He took Elizabeth by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. Warren rolled his eyes, unable to intervene. 

“Logan,” Elizabeth said, taking a step back, “Should you happen to open the doors mid-flight and M. Fantomex here should happen to find himself taking an unexpected dip in the Channel, don’t feel too guilty.”

“And if I happen to pop my claws in him first?”

“I’ll tell Miss Frost I never saw a thing,” Elizabeth said.

“Is there something I should know?” Fantomex asked.

Elizabeth pulled her goggles out of her pocket and opened the door to the aeroplane. “I’m the pilot, you moron.”

 

The flight to France was uneventful, thankfully the noise of the engine overpowered any effort at conversation. The weather was in their favour, with high cloud and no wind, their bearings true, and an hour before first light they landed in an empty field ten miles north of Lyon. The plane positioned at the end of the field, facing the direction most favoured for take-off, and the team set off towards the city, Elizabeth and Warren heading northeast towards the nearest town to take the train the rest of the way, and Logan and Fantomex to the northwest to try and hire a car.

“Ah, France, the land of my fathers. The food, the people, the culture - ” Fantomex began.

“The occupation by hostile forces,” Logan grumbled, “Listen, bub, we move on in silence. Got it?”

“I do not understand why I could not be partnered with dear Psylocke, and you with your fellow American.”

“I’m Canadian.”

“Ah, lovely country I am told. Many moose. Wonderful mountains. So very cold, though.”

“More walk, less talk.”

“Ah, but of course. Ah look, we approach a town. Fresh baguettes and _cafe au lait_ await, _mon amie_.”

Logan gritted his teeth, and shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the fake Ausweis, Vichy Government papers, and rations stubs brush against his fingers. The sooner he could pop his claws through those, the better. It was going to be a very long journey into town. 

 

Elizabeth and Warren enjoyed a meagre breakfast on the embankment of the Rhône; if one ignored the Swastikas and few bombed buildings, it was a very pleasant view, with the golden trees, and Basilique Notre Dame de Fourviére overseeing the city. 

“Last time I was here,” Elizabeth said, “The city was bustling. Wonderful milliners, and cake shops. The praline tart, oh I remember that.”

“When was this?” Warren asked. Betsy used her psi-powers to hide the fact they were speaking in English. She and Warren could both speak fluent school-French, but much preferred their native tongue. 

“Summer of ’31 I think. Maybe ’32. I was still at school. We went to Venice for the summer.”

“Of course you did. Bit flasher than the Hamptons.”

“It has it’s perks,” Elizabeth smiled, and leant into Warren. Away from Logan and Fantomex, they didn’t have to pretend that they weren’t married. “I’ll have to take you there one day, provided the fascists haven’t wrecked it, and no one else bombs it to smithereens.”

“And we both survive this,” Warren said, wrapping his arm around Elizabeth.

“Oh, please,” Elizabeth said, “You know I hate it when you get all fatalistic.”

“Betsy…”

“I can’t think like that, Warren. I can’t think like that and do this job. It has to turn out all right for us. We have to win. I can’t fantasise any other option.”

Warren kissed her hair. “Sitting here, in the morning sun, eating frankly awful food… it’s so pretty but the food is so horrible. Everything I’ve every heard about French food, it’s got to be better than this.”

“It is,” Elizabeth said. “When I was twelve we spent the summer in Nice. There was a _boulangerie_ just across the road and every morning Brian and I - ” 

“All right,” Warren laughed, “You’re making me hungry. That’s what we’re fighting for, then. Decent French food.”

“We’re fighting to save the world, darling.”

“I know,” Warren said, standing up, and taking Elizabeth by the hand. “So let’s go find the Resistance and get on with it.” 

 

Logan, Fantomex, Elizabeth and Warren reunited later in the morning, and made their way to their respective accommodations, before meeting up again to find Remy, Rogue, and Monet. They spotted the symbols of the Resistance across the city, the Cross of Lorraine with an X above it and a V below. Not all symbols had the three elements, but X above the cross was undoubtedly an addition by those they had come to liberate. 

Different meeting places were set for different times of day and days of the week, and on this afternoon, the SOE team took it in turns of visiting the Cathedral Saint Jean-Baptiste. Shortly after three o’clock, a man and woman slid onto the bench at the across from Elizabeth.

//Remy and Rogue, I assume? Look at prayer. I’m a telepath, just think at me.//

//It’s ok, we know other telepaths,// Rogue said, //Ah can’t believe y’all finally here.//

//In five minutes, I’ll leave. Wait another five minutes, then meet us at the cafe across the square.//

//When do we leave Lyon?// Remy asked.

//Where’s Monet?// Elizabeth asked, it not being lost on her that they were one person short. Rogue thought in English, and with her southern American accent, she was clearly not the French society girl. 

Rogue took a deep breath and slipped her hand into Remy’s. //She’s scared. We can go get her later. Also, y’all lucky there’s no power dampeners around here.//

//Power dampeners here?// Elizabeth asked. 

//They’ve got portable units. They’re easy to disable, but however they work, they block your power using some sort of electrical current. Like radio waves, or something.//

Rumours had reached the SOE of such portable devices, but no one had recovered one for the British to pick apart. The existence of large-scale electric-based power dampeners in sensitive areas were well known, and both sides used them to prevent psi-messages getting across the Channel. 

//I see,// said Elizabeth, glancing across at the green-coated woman, and brown-coated man, before looking back at the beautiful stain-glassed windows which remained. //Well, from what I’ve read, her brother and his cronies hardly sounds like St Nick.//

//It ain’t funny…//

//I know, but what else can one do in such circumstances but laugh?// 

 

The SOE four shared dinner with Rogue and Remy in their small apartment in one of the many _traboules_ , or private alleyways, the old town. The two Resistance fighters filled the others in on what they knew about  the Gestapo, and what happened should they get their hands on a mutant who won’t be turned to their cause, or whose powers are considered “of interest”. They shared Remy and Rogue’s final bottle of ’39 Hermitage, and the SOE team distributed the fake money, rations stubs, and identification papers for Remy and Rogue to leave in the dead drop location for other members of the Resistance to collect. As much as they would have liked to leave Lyon that night, their brief included saving Monet, and Remy and Rogue needed time to pass on the counterfeit goods.

Once they meal was done and the city was dark, the six headed up the street to another _traboule_ , where Monet lived. Curfew was now in force, and the residents of the old town had their windows and curtains shut tight. As an extra precaution, Elizabeth put a psychic net over the team, to mask their presence from any prying eyes. Rogue opened the _traboule_ door which lead to Monet’s apartment.

“We’ll scare her if we all go up. She’s powerful, and Ah wouldn’t put it past her to fight hard if spooked.”

“I’ll wait down here then,” Logan said, “I hardly got the face of an angel.”

“Elizabeth and Warren should go with you, Rogue. She trusts you the most,” Remy said. 

“All right,” Rogue said, leading the way up the winding staircase, with Betsy and Warren behind her.

They reached Monet’s door on the top floor. Rogue knocked, but there was no response. 

“She’s in there,” Elizabeth said, “I can feel her mind.”

Rogue knocked again. “Monet, sugah?”

Again there was no response. 

“Damn it,” Rogue shoved her shoulder into the door, which promptly swung open. A pretty young woman jumped up onto the bed, her body positioned to fight. “Monet, sugah, it’s just us. Why’d you not answer the door?” Rogue asked, holding out her hand. Monet took it and stepped down from the bed. 

“You weren’t alone. I don’t know who they are,” she said, nodding towards Betsy and Warren, who was lifting the door closed.

“We’re here to help you, Monet,” Betsy said.

“Unless you can stop my brother, it’s too late for that.”

“They’re with the British,” Rogue said, “They’re fightin’ for all our freedom. They’re gunna take us back to England with them, so we can fight the good fight. Ain’t nothing left for us to do here anymore. Ah know it’s your country, M, and your city, but we need help, and we’re in all sorts of trouble should your brother’s lot get hold of us.”

Monet considered this. She could feel Elizabeth and Warren looking around the room, judging her small quarters with the peeling wallpaper, and thin mattress on a rickety old bed frame. The nicest thing in the room was the blackout curtains. “Who are they?” she asked, nodding towards Betsy and Warren.

“This is Psylocke, and this is Angel.”

“Their real names,” Monet said, “They know mine.”

“Elizabeth and Warren,” Betsy answered. Titles and surnames were unnecessary at this point in time. If they got back to England, Monet would find out soon enough. 

“There’s others,” Monet said, casting her mind around.

“Logan and Jean-Philippe,” Elizabeth said, “They’re outside with Remy.”

Monet folded her arms. “I guess we have to go now.”

“No,” Betsy said, “We can’t leave tonight. We won’t make it out before first light, and I’d rather take our chances with another day in Lyon than out in the fields.”

Monet tried staring Elizabeth down, but she just felt like a child trying to challenge her headmistress. “I guess I have to leave everything behind.”

“If you care wear it or fit it in your pockets, you can bring it.”

“You can bring a small bag, sugah,” Rogue added gently. There was little left to bring, but Monet didn’t want Elizabeth and Warren to think she was destitute. True, she had had to pawn most of her possessions for food and shelter, but there were a few items remaining. Enough to last until Christmas, though their true value was worth so much more, but in desperate times, the power is not with the seller. Perhaps now what she had left could stay hers forever. Monet had a satchel in which she could bring her nightgown and spare stockings and small clothes and the few pictures she had of her family, with her brother cut off the end, of course.

“I don’t want to die,” Monet said, her voice cracking.

“Ah know,” Rogue said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around the girl, “That’s why we gotta go. Meet tomorrow night us at the André Marie Ampère monument at 6:30. You’ll come back, Ah promise, but we can’t win the war from here. The Gestapo are too close now, so we gotta get out.”

Monet nodded, hiding her face in Rogue’s shoulder. She hated that she could feel Elizabeth pitying her. 

“We’ll see you later then,” Elizabeth said, //And stay out of my head. Even my surface thoughts.//

Monet’s eyes went wide.

Betsy smirked. “You’re not the only telepath in the world, Monet. Better learn that before you come to London.”

The three then left Monet, and made their way down the narrow, spiralling staircase.

“Can you see Logan?” Warren asked, as they went past a window.

“They might have moved under cover,” Elizabeth said, as it had begun to drizzle. “And she is not nearly as good a telepath as she thinks she is.”

“I dunno about the boys,” Rogue said, “But Monet’s a serious all-rounder. You name it, she can do it to some degree. She’d be real good on a team.”

“If she wants to play, and the rules are to her liking.” Betsy added. She understood that Monet deserved saving, and was just as scared as the next kid, but there was something about her which just rubbed Elizabeth the wrong way. She wondered what Miss Frost would make of Monet should they meet.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the _traboule_. “Logan? Remy?” Warren called softly. He turned back to the girls. “They’re not here…” 

“Oh, shit,” Rogue breathed, looking up and down the dark, narrow alleyway. She grabbed Elizabeth by the arm. “Run!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

As Rogue, Elizabeth and Warren escaped through the traboule, Elizabeth reached out her mind. "I can't feel anyone…"

"You got a headache at all?" Rogue asked in a whisper.

"I do feel a bit nauseous," Elizabeth confessed.

"They must have psi-blockers nearby. Ah don't feel impacted," Rogue said.

"Me neither," Warren said. "I can hear someone."

"Are the coming for Monet?" Elizabeth asked. "Rogue, we have to warn her if - "

"They know she's there," Rogue said, opening the door onto the Rue de Bœuf. "Marius is stringing her along. He wants to see her reduced to begging in the streets before he has her carted off to the camps. This way, come on."

Warren shut the door, and they headed past a few shops before Rogue opened the door to another traboule.

"Why aren't these locked?" Warren asked, again shutting the door behind him. From the street, the doors into the traboules looked just like any other door, without any clues that an alleyway lay behind them. Warren wanted to grab the girls and fly out of this mouse trap, but he had little doubt that the Gestapo would have a lookout and snipers and ground-to-air weaponry on the Fourviére, just waiting for any flight-based activity, mutant or otherwise. But he found it so hard just to stay grounded.

"No one trusts those bastards not to just set the whole Old Town alight if they can't get what they want," Rogue said, leading them towards the door at the other end. Elizabeth stumbled and Warren grabbed her arm.

"What's wrong?"

"The power damper, it's near here. I can hardly think…"

BANG!

The three stopped. "Sounds like we're not the only ones headed down here," Warren said, still holding Elizabeth.

"That wasn't a gun shot," Rogue said. She turned back to the couple and smiled. Outside, they heard a familiar voice yelling and another explosion. "It's Remy."

Rogue flung the door open and the three found themselves in the middle of a fray.

"Fantomex, find and disarm the power dampener!" Warren yelled. He watched Rogue literally fly into the fight, pick up a member of the Gestapo by the collar, punch him in the face and drop him back on the street, all without going higher than the top of the buildings. Warren couldn't help but be impressed.

"I've got it!" Remy called, and threw a powered-up playing card at a black box sitting in a doorway across the road, which exploded on impact. Elizabeth felt her telepathy return within an instant.

"He missed the memo where we wanted to save and reverse-engineer one of those, didn't he?" she asked, focussing her power into a telekinetic sword. The purple glow of the sword lit up the street.

"Psylocke, any time you wanna use your TP to shut these folks down would be real nice," Rogue yelled in English, slamming one of the Gestapo into a wall. He collapsed in a heap.

"They've got shields in their helmets," Elizabeth called back, swinging her sword. The Gestapo solider running at her with a knife dropped stunned to his knees, doubled over. "We need to do this the old fashioned way."

"Almost done here," Logan said, pulling his claws out of the side of the of another. "Head count?"

"There were six of them when we appeared," Warren said.

They all looked around. Only five bodies lay in the street. "Who's missing?" Fantomex asked.

Rogue sighed, and landed beside Remy. "Have a guess…"

"He'll have gone back to base. I saw him."

"I punched the bastard in the face," Warren said, "It is Marius St Croix we're discussing, right?"

"We gotta get off the streets."

"Monet - "

"He won't go for her alone. Not now," Rogue said.

"But he'll know we were with her, he - " Elizabeth said.

"You gotta trust me, sugah," Rogue said, taking Elizabeth by the arm. "Come on boys, let's go. And Psylocke, you have got to teach me that glowy-sword trick."

...

The team spent the day locked down in their respective accommodation, sleeping, waiting, and preparing, leaving their accommodation only to purchase what few supplies they needed for their escape, knowing that Marius St Croix would now be on their tails, especially now that he knew there were more mutants in town, and English-speaking ones at that.

...

Monet walked as fast as she dared down the rue Victor Hugo, which was all but empty at 6:25pm. Curfew was horrible. It destroyed the city's once bustling nightlife which she had so enjoyed. If anyone looked out their window now, they would see a lone girl wandering down the street, in a plain black coat and a nice, pre-war hat, her satchel across her body. Part of Monet wanted to sit down and cry at the unfairness of it all, or to simply run. The second arrondissement was dangerous, as the Gestapo could easily block of the roads, and without the hidden traboules of the Old Town, Monet would be trapped. But if the Gestapo closed in on her now, she would go out in a blaze of glory. She'd heard enough of what happened to mutants in the camps to know it was not a fate she wanted. She would rather die in the streets of her city, a martyr to the Resistance, than end up in a mass grave in some frozen muddy pit in Poland.

As she walked in the dark, Monet realised that she wasn't alone. She didn't want to reach her mind out to find out who, less it be her brother, as any hint of her poking around in his head would surely lead to him pouncing on her, or punishing her in some other way. Monet quickened her step. She had to meet the others at the Andre Marie Ampere monument. She checked her watch but it was too dark to see the hands. Would they wait if she was late? How much leeway would they give? Monet wanted to break into a run, but that would give her away to anyone watching. This was stupid. Someone would see her. Someone would know that the remaining St Croix girl was wandering the rue Victor Hugo alone after curfew. Someone would tell the Gestapo and Marius would find her and he'd -

"Keep walking. Look briefly at Logan and I and nod if you need to, but keep walking."

"You scared me half to death," Monet said, her heart in her mouth as the others fell into step with her. She looked briefly at Elizabeth and Logan, but did not break her stride, or dare show just how frightened she was. "Why not meet me at the monument?"

"We've been compromised," Elizabeth said, looking straight ahead, "There isn't time to be seen standing around."

"Where's Rogue?" Monet asked.

"We're all meeting up back at the plane," Logan said, "It's safest, kid. We all gotta get out of the city, and it's easiest to do that in smaller teams."

"Well why didn't Rogue come to get me?"

"Rogue and Angel will be walking this same route in five minutes, and Remy and Fantomex did the same, five minutes earlier. It was luck of the draw as to who found you. Hold onto this, will you," Elizabeth said, slipping a small box into Monet's bag.

"All right, I just - where's the plane?"

"We have to catch the train," Elizabeth said, not breaking stride as they passed the monument, and headed towards the Gare de Lyon-Perrache.

"But the last train - "

"Leaves in ten minutes," Elizabeth said, tucking her hands into her pockets, "We already have tickets. We'll make it."

...

Elizabeth used her telepathy to have the few others on the train ignore their presence, and the ride out of the city was uneventful. No one looked twice at the little group when the alighted the train, or made their way to the back to the village and out into the fields beyond. It was a bit of a walk through the paddocks, but they soon saw the plane sitting by the trees.

"Someone's there," Monet said, certain that it must be Marius. He must have followed her and got ahead and found the plane and -

"It's Remy and Fantomex," Logan said, sniffing the air. "No sign of the others."

Elizabeth sent out a psychic call to let the men know they were approaching, so as not to be accidentally attacked when approaching their own aeroplane.

"Ah, mes bons amis," Remy said, holding open the door.

"Oui, la jeune demoiselle, le Canadian, et la belle Betsy," Fantomex said.

"I see you've warmed my seat for me, Fantomex," Elizabeth said, climbing in. Fantomex reluctantly removed himself from the pilot's seat.

"Just incase you did not return, I wished to be in position."

"How thoughtful," Elizabeth said in a tone that could freeze hell, sliding into the pilot's seat. She pulled out her goggles and slipped them around her neck. Logan sat beside her in the co-pilot's chair. The moment Warren and Rogue were aboard, they would depart.

Half an hour passed, then a whole hour, then two. Monet sat as still as a statue, as though any movement would alert her brother to her presence, Remy picked at loose threads on his coat, Fantomex closed his eyes and tried to replace what he had seen of his country over the past two days with the land he remembered. Elizabeth tapped her fingers on the dashboard. Everything was ready, the conditions were favourable, the sky was quiet, they just needed the final two members of their team. She angled her wrist so as to catch the moonlight on the face of her watch to check the time. Almost three hours since they'd arrived at the plane, and now they were running out of time. To save those already on board, they needed to be back across the Channel before first light.

"I'll do it," Logan said.

"Pardon?" Elizabeth asked.

"If they're not here in ten minutes, I'll take command of the squad and make the call."

"I - I'm know I'm not projecting."

"Ya not, but I don't need to be some psychic to know what you're thinking. If you can't do it, I'll take command."

"Logan…"

"In ten minutes. It's a fairly clear night, so first light will be early."

"I could reach out to Miss Frost, let her make the call…"

"Even if you reach her, and she wakes up and hears you, and responds, you'll still knock yourself out. The dampers across the channel will sap everything you got. We need you conscious. We need a pilot, and you're the best of us."

"I know." Elizabeth exhaled, her stomach in knots. She turned around and looked at the other three, waiting awkwardly for something to happen. "All right."

"It ain't easy, I get that, but - wait."

"What?" Elizabeth said, sitting up.

"You hear that?" Logan lent back. Remy, Monet and Fantomex all sat up straighter and listened.

"Is that a - " Remy began.

"Motorbike?" Fantomex asked.

"Trucks!" Logan said.

/Elizabeth, go! Rogue and I are both flyers, and they're on our tail. We stole a motorbike. We're coming, just get going!/

"We're going!" Elizabeth called verbally and psychically to Warren, and started the engines. "Everyone hold tight."

BANG! BANG!

"Shots fired!"

"They're firing at Rogue!" Remy yelled, lurching towards the door, Monet behind him. "We have to help."

"Do not leave the plane!" Elizabeth yelled over the engines as they came to life. "Angel and Rogue are coming."

BANG!

"ROGUE!"


	4. Chapter 4

"How many trucks are there?" Elizabeth asked as she pulled on her goggles while taxiing the plane across the field, rapidly gaining speed.

"Four," Remy called, "Someone give me something to throw."

"Here," Logan said, reaching into his pocket and handing the contents to Remy. The motorbike and trucks were fast approaching, the flat landscape everyone a clear view. "Come on, Bets, get us in the sky!"

"I'm trying. Everyone hold on!"

BANG!

Monet shrieked.

"Bloody hell," Logan grumbled.

"Mademoiselle, please, sit down," Fantomex said, trying to push Monet back.

Remy lent out of the door and threw the charged papers Logan had given him.

"Sit down!" Elizabeth yelled as the nose of the plane began to rise.

BOOM!

Remy's aim was true, and he hit the second of the four trucks, which the third then drove into, but the fourth went around and the first was hot on the tail of Warren and Rogue.

BANG! BANG!

The troops fired in retaliation.

"Rogue's been hit!" Monet screamed.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Are they aiming at us or them?" Elizabeth asked.

"Rogue's been hit!"

"What?" Elizabeth called over the engine noise.

"Get us up, Elizabeth!" Logan yelled. "Monet, sit down. Remy, here," Logan ripped one of the buttons off his coat. There was little else on board the plane they could afford to lose. "Throw this."

The plane bounced as it left the ground. Elizabeth and Logan watched the skies, convinced they would see enemy planes coming towards them at any moment. Remy threw the button which landed in front of the fourth truck, which swerved and tipped over in a ditch on the side of the track. "Look!" Fantomex called, pointing at their two colleagues below. Warren had thrown off his coat, spread his wings, wrapped his arm around Rogue's waist, flew up towards the plane. Rogue looked awfully limp.

"Faster Elizabeth, come on," Logan urged, glancing out the side window and seeing the Gestapo lining up behind their trucks, snipers at the ready.

"Shut up, Logan. Just shut up!"

"Reach!" Monet yelled.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"ROGUE!"

Rogue slipped and fell from Warren's grasp. Monet pushed past Remy and Fantomex and dived out of the plane.

"NO!"

"MONET, DON'T!"

"What is going on?" Elizabeth yelled.

"&%#$ING MONET JUST JUMPED OUT OF THE &%#$ING PLANE!"

"She can fly! I have to get to altitude." Elizabeth could no longer allow her mind to be in two places. If she couldn't get the plane out, they'd all die. She had to save who she had, and count the losses when back on home soil. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could feel Warren coming closer.

//Keep going, Bets.//

The plane bounced again as they passed through a low cloud.

"Reach!" Fantomex yelled.

BANG! BANG!

"REACH! COME ON!"

"ROGUE!"

"COME ON, MONET!"

Fantomex grabbed Monet's hand and pulled her into the plane. She held Rogue over her shoulder like a bag of potatoes, and once on board, dropped to the ground.

"Shut the door! Shut the door!"

"But – "

"SHUT THE DAMNED DOOR!"

"Shit, shit…"

"Oh God, someone get a torch."

"I couldn't get them both. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I…"

"What's going on?" Elizabeth yelled.

"Get us out of here Betsy," Logan said, "Just get us home."

"Where's Warren?" Elizabeth asked, noticing that she could no longer feel him nearby. She couldn't take her eyes of the sky in front of her. There were more clouds up ahead, which would help mask the sight and sound of the plane to any enemies below.

"Just fly…" Logan said, unstrapping his seatbelt.

"LOGAN, WHERE IS HE?"

"FLY THE DAMNED PLANE, ELIZABETH!" Logan stood up and fought his way back. Monet sat silently against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. Fantomex had produced a torch, and shone it on Rogue. "Get out of the way, everyone," Logan said.

"What, no, M. Logan, she - "

Logan pulled off one of his gloves. "Absorbs other folks' powers, yeah?"

"But she also gets memories and life force and…"

"Guess I better think happy thoughts then," Logan said.

"M. Logan…"

"I got healing factor, Remy. She won't make it back to England if I don't damn try. Get out of the way." Remy shuffled aside, and Logan knelt over Rogue, who lay lifeless on the floor. Logan reach out and touched her cheek. He felt a shock, but didn't take his hand away. "Come on, kid. Wake up. Ya gotta wake up…"

They all watched with baited breath for a few moments before Rogue's eye's popped open. "Ahhh…" Rogue exhaled.

"Sit up," Logan said, gently taking Rogue by the shoulders and pulling her into a sitting position. Rogue moaned in pain.

"Logan, you're hurting her."

"You ever ejected bullets from your body, bub?" Logan asked, positioning Rogue as carefully as possible into a position that experience had taught him worked best. "Trust me, it's easier to do this sitting up. Few minutes, and she'll be right as rain. It's gunna hurt like hell, but you ain't gunna die, so that's worth something."

Remy knelt beside Rogue and held her while her body healed. Logan stood up and carefully made his way back past Monet to the co-pilot's seat. "Ya did the best ya could, kid." Monet avoided his gaze.

"Is she - " Elizabeth asked as Logan sat back down and strapped back in.

"She'll be fine. You got this?"

"I've got this." There were clouds below them, but the sky above was filled with stars.

"Good," Logan said, "Because touching Rogue feels like getting stabbed with a lightning bolt. Gimme ten and I can take over if you need."

...

"EMMA!" Nathan bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. "The phone call is for you! Some chap named Mr Coulson from the Foreign Office, but I reckon that's a lie! Emma?"

Emma rolled out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and hurried out of the bedroom. She rubbed her eyes, having seen stars after getting up too quickly. "Well, now the whole bloody neighbourhood knows, thank-you, Nathan."

"Oh, were you still in bed?"

"It's hardly six o'clock in the morning," Emma said, assuming that was approximately the time, and tying up her dressing gown. "Why didn't your father answer the phone?"

"He had a mouthful of porridge," Nathan answered. Nathan and Scott were notoriously early risers.

"Mummy, why is Nathan yelling?" Sophie said, poking her head out of her bedroom door, with Celeste just visible behind her. "He woke us up."

"Hop back into bed for a bit, girls."

"What's happening?" Kitty said, opening her bedroom door.

"Everyone go back to bed," Emma ordered, marching down the stairs. This phone call was going to go one of two ways. As Nathan disappeared into the kitchen, Scott appeared in the hallway. His presence calmed Emma. Scott gave her a small smile. Emma picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

...

Elizabeth didn't remember getting out of the plane. She remembered landing, and Logan saying "outstanding landing" and giving her a pat on the shoulder, but not getting out.

She didn't recall who had met them at the airport, or who had driven her back to her London apartment. She didn't remember getting undressed or getting into bed. Monty, their butler, had woken her at half-past nine. He'd already run her a bath, which Elizabeth was more than happy to slide into and have a good soak. When she hopped out, she found her clothing laid out on the bed, then a very nice breakfast made up in the dining room. Despite rationing, Monty could do wonders. Elizabeth didn't allow herself to think too much. She had to get through the debriefing. A car came to pick Elizabeth up at 11 o'clock. Monty didn't ask her anything about the past few days, or where Warren was, his questioning extended as far as "Will your ladyship be home for dinner, supper or both?" to which Elizabeth replied that she did not expect to be home until supper. She wished she could just curl back into bed, and forget, or have the world right itself while she slept. Elizabeth swallowed her emotions, collected her hat, gloves, and coat, and went down to the car.

...

Emma, Miss Lee, Elizabeth, Logan, Fantomex, Remy, Rogue and Monet all managed to squeeze into Emma's office. Despite the tight fit, Warren's absence made the room felt somewhat empty. Remy and Rogue held onto one another, Monet stood with her arms crossed and wouldn't look anyone in the eye, Fantomex looked bored, and Logan looked like he either wanted to eat something or stab something. Elizabeth stayed emotionless. Emma wondered if she could be so cool if she were in Elizabeth's place. She knew the answer and knew the results would not be pretty if, god forgive, she lost Scott.

The team explained to what had happened without skipping a single step, Emma nodded in the right places and asked all the necessary questions, and Miss Lee took it all down verbatim.

Once the briefing was done, Monet, Rogue and Remy were sent to be checked by the physician before being further debriefing, then given a proper meal and somewhere to stay. Rogue had been given a change of clothes upon arrival, as her coat and dress had been covered in bullet-holes and blood. Logan, Elizabeth and Fantomex had all been granted 48 hours leave; they needed rest, but the war would not wait forever.

After they had filed out of Emma's office, Miss Lee closed the door behind the team. "Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Frost?"

Emma rested her elbows on the desk, entwined her fingers and leant her chin upon her hands. "What would you do, Miss Lee?"

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"If you were the one sitting in this chair, what would you do?"

"I - umm," Miss Lee started, but one look at Emma told her that her boss was after a proper and confident answer. There had been a sliver of hope offered by Rogue. The odds weren't good, but there was a chance that if the Gestapo had captured Warren, they'd take him for further interrogation and investigation. "Well, I'd want to save Angel, ma'am. If he's alive, I mean. If we can find him, and he's alive, we have to save him."

"Yes," said Emma, drumming her fingers on the desk, "Well that's a nuisance, because it's exactly what I think too."


	5. Chapter 5

Elizabeth left the meeting and the SOE headquarters as quickly as she could, seeking solace in Westminster Abbey. It wasn't that she was particularly religious, since her wedding she could count the number of times she'd been to church on one had. Perhaps heading off to Chapel was an school habit she hadn't quite shaken off. Perhaps she needed somewhere quiet and grand and worth preserving and actually open to the public. Somewhere that wasn't her home, and that didn't have any immediate connection to Warren. The Abbey had sustained damage over the past few years, but it was still largely in tact, and what damage there was had been cleaned up and patched up with as best temporary measures as possible, much like St Paul's over in the City, now standing amongst the rubble like a great big finger up at the Luftwaffe. Hit me, I dare you. Hit me and see if I move. See if I fall.

Elizabeth had walked from Baker Street down to Westminster. It has been nice to actually move, instead of just sitting in cars. Walking allowed her time to think, to go over recent events in her mind. She paid little attention to her surrounds, but London was more or less how they'd left it earlier in the week. Warren was the only noticeable absence.

In her mind, Elizabeth went over every step, every action she had taken and decision she had made. She had done everything right. Everything. And she could not find fault within the team either. So why had she still lost?

Someone sat down beside Elizabeth. They had the whole Abbey to sit in, and had to sit here. Elizabeth realised she had lost track of the time, and now looked to the side to see who it was. Ororo Munroe gave her a brave smile. At the sight of her friend, Elizabeth was forced to choke back tears. Ororo knew. Elizabeth didn't know how, but she knew, and that made everything too real.

Ororo was the illegitimate daughter of a Kenyan tribal princess, and her Egyptian-based British-photograph lover. The relationship had not been allowed to continue, and Ororo was sent to live with her extended family in Britain. She had been educated at Roedean alongside one Lady Elizabeth Braddock, and they soon became firm friends. Their mutant powers happened to manifest within weeks of one another, Betsy being struck down by headaches and what she believed were hallucinations. Ororo's power manifestation was a bit more subtle, the wind always favoured her team's direction when playing sports, it rained during tests, but was sunny by lunchtime. Now, Ororo lived in a nice flat in London, and worked for the Red Cross. On more than one occasion she had been approached by various members of secretive government branches, but Ororo was content with her current work, and unwilling to be a pawn in anyone's war games.

"Is Emma having me followed?" Elizabeth mumbled, looking about the Abbey.

"No. Hello, Betsy."

"Hello. Who, then?"

"No one's having you followed," Ororo whispered. "Or at least, not as far as I know. Logan sent me a telegram this morning, saying he was worried about you, and didn't think you should be alone after the meeting."

"He's married."

"I know, but he hasn't seen his family for four years."

"It doesn't matter. It isn't becoming."

"Nothing's happened, Betsy. We just write. We're friends. And he was - concerned about you. Asked me to look after you. I telephoned your place, and Monty said you hadn't returned. You weren't that hard to find."

Elizabeth sighed. "Evensong will start soon."

"Do you want to stay?"

Betsy felt a sudden pain in the stomach, and bowed her head and closed her eyes. This was harder than she expected. To accept Warren was gone… She'd read reports, she'd seen the files. She knew what they might do to him if he'd survived. Ororo took her hand.

"Bets?"

"There was nothing I could do…"

"Come on," Ororo said, not wanting her friend to fall apart in public, and thus put her arm around Elizabeth and lifted her to her feet, "Let's take you home."

"I'm sorry, Ro, I - I did everything just right…"

They passed a dean or deacon or chaplain of some sorts who had seen more than one distraught woman in the past few years. He nodded solemnly. Ororo nodded back. Elizabeth couldn't think of anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other, and forcing a stiff upper lip. As they passed the tomb of the Unknown Warrior, Elizabeth's eye's fell upon the words;

_For the sacred cause of justice and_

_The freedom of the world_

"Ro?" Elizabeth asked, with the last of her composure, as the approached the main doors, "Please call a for cab. I - I can't walk home. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

…

From the outside looking in, the house looked unbelievably cosy. There was a faint golden glow around the downstairs windows; even blackout curtains could not knock out all the light. Emma walked up the path and opened the door.

"Mummy's home!"

"Mummy! Hello Mummy!"

"Hello Mummy!"

The twins came racing out of the front room to greet Emma. She closed the front door and gave them both a hug and a kiss on the head. "Good evening, girls."

"Hello Emma," Nathan called, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor.

"We're all just in here, Emma. Hello," Kitty said.

"Hello Emma. Your dinner is in the oven. We've already eaten," Rachel said.

"Shh, the show's starting."

"Come back and sit down, girls."

"Someone close the door."

"Ouch, Celeste, don't stand on me. Go around."

"Shh."

"Sophie, sit here."

"Kitty, can you pass me that blue piece there, please?"

"Shh, everyone."

"Shush yourself."

Emma closed the living room door, the picture of the five children sitting around the coffee table in front of the fireplace making a puzzle while the _Captain America_ program began on the wireless did look all rather perfect. Although she'd probably wake up in the middle of the night with that ridiculous theme tune stuck in her head.

"Hello Emma," Scott said, appearing from further down the hallway. "Dinner's ready."

"I didn't mean to be so late. I lost track of the time."

"Never mind. It's only half-six. I've listened to the twins read, and they've done their spelling. Nathan wrote a few lines of an English essay before declaring he had no idea what he was doing, and said he'll ask Doug about it tomorrow. Rachel and Kitty have study to do, and promised to do it once the twins are in bed. They all just need a little down time, and - oh."

Emma looked her beautiful, skinny husband. As she exhaled, her shoulders slumped. Scott stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Who?"

Emma swallowed. "Warren."

Scott wrapped his arms around Emma and held her tightly. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he held her tighter. It was almost too hard to breath, but she needed the security, the knowledge that Scott was really there.

"We - we don't know if he's dead. I don't know if that's good or bad. I - oh, poor Elizabeth…"

"Is there anything I can do?" Scott asked.

"Not really," Emma replied. "Just don't let me go."


	6. Chapter 6

“Miss Lee ain’t in?”

Emma looked up from her desk, only mildly surprised to see Logan standing in her doorway. “She’s out. The Ministry of Information is playing funny buggers with us. I’ve trusted Miss Lee to sort them out.”

“You reckon a nineteen-year-old Oriental kid is going to sort out their bureaucratic crap?”

“She’s from Bristol, and yes, I do.”

“Huh,” said Logan, pulling a cigar out of his pocket. “Trusting folks suits you, Ems.”

“Light that in my office, and you’ll be mopping your brains up off the floor. Why are you here? You have the day off.” Emma had thought that having her team back would help her sleep, but it hadn’t. She felt as though she’d only been asleep for minutes before she felt Scott sliding out of bed to go and make the breakfast. She didn’t tell him he’d woken her. He’d just apologise so damn sincerely. 

Logan put the cigar back in his pocket and shut the door behind himself. “Had a proper meal, a fourteen-hour sleep, and as decent a breakfast as ya can get these days. Hell, I even wrote a letter to Sarah and the kids. We need to talk, Miss Frost.”

“How is your family? Isn’t your oldest boy about old enough to enlist?”

“Not about them.”

“Go on,” Emma said, knowing full well that Logan had no intention of discussing his family. 

“I reckon we were made.”

“Have you discussed this with Elizabeth?”

“She ain’t in the right frame of mind for discussing this type of thing right now.”

“No,” Emma said, making a mental note that a full and frank discussion with Lady Elizabeth would be required in the following days all the same. “I suppose not. Would you like a seat?”

“I’ll stand,” Logan said, leaning against the door. 

“Go on, then,” Emma said.

Logan pulled the cigar out of his pocket again. Emma raised her eyebrows. “Habit, sorry,” Logan said, pocketing it once more. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that St Croix git really is that good, and his grey-coated pals are that organised. But I dunno. Lyon’s been occupied for what, a few weeks? Something ain’t right.”

“It’s only been occupied for a few weeks,” Emma said, “But that doesn’t mean it’s been one big holiday for the past few years. So, you think it’s the dear mademoiselle?”

“Nah,” Logan said, “She ain’t gunna be easy to live with, but she’s terrified of her brother. Risked her life to save Rogue. She wants to fight the good fight, just doesn’t know how. Carrying a whole lot of surviver guilt, too.”

Emma nodded, knowing the feeling only too well. “Remy and Rogue?”

“He’s a crook, but got a heart of gold. She does too. Won’t go one without the other. Remy’ll fight for his homeland, and France is as good a home as Rogue’s ever had. They want freedom and half a chance. I reckon Rogue could lead the whole US Forces if given a shot.”

“So you think it’s one of ours?”

“I dunno,” Logan said, looking at his shoes, “I don’t want it to be. It ain’t the love birds. Elizabeth wouldn’t know how to betray this country, and Warren wouldn’t know how to betray her.”

“Hmm,” Emma twirled a pen between her fingers.

“What’s the deal with those two, anyway? Ain’t kosher to have a couple on the team. Too much risk. Using hearts not heads.”

“I trust them,” Emma said. 

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

“I don’t answer you, Mr Logan. Please remember that.”

Logan shuffled his feet and felt for the cigar in his pocket. He was going to light it up the moment he was out of Emma’s office. “Just leaves the Frenchie.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh,” Logan said. “He’s why Miss Lee’s over at the Ministry?”

“There’s an - anomaly if you will, in his paperwork.”

“Betsy knew?”

“Yes. She was team-leader. I told her. I didn’t think the rest of you needed to know. Clerical error. You know what bureaucracy’s like.”

“Hate ta tell ya, Ems, but I really don’t.”

“You think Jean-Philippe’s playing us?”

Logan sighed. “That’s the problem. I don’t trust him, and I sure don’t like him, but I’m not getting a single read on him that says he’s betraying us. He hates what those bastards are doing to his country. He’s violent and doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, but I don’t think he’s a traitor.”

“So we’re back to square one, then,” Emma said, leaning back in her chair.

Logan sighed. “Think I’m starting to see shadows in the midday sun, Ems.”

“You’re not the only one,” Emma replied.

“So, what’s next?”

Emma picked up her reading glasses and chewed on the end. “We need to find Warren.”

“You think he’s alive?”

“If Marius St Croix has half the brain we think he does, then yes. They’ll want to question Warren at the very least. Then I suppose he’ll be shipped of to a lovely little camp to assist with science and other such things.”

“Warren wouldn’t betray us.”

“Yes, he will,” Emma said.

“He won’t.”

“Standard protocol. Spill your guts and save your life. If they’re as good as we are, there’s little that Warren will know that the SS don’t already.”

Logan considered this for a moment. “And then what?”

“They’re a dictatorship, darling,” Emma said, twirling her glasses, “We’re banking on bureaucracy. If you think they’re keen on red tape in Whitehall, I can only imagine what it’s like in Berlin. They think they’re so efficient, but every slime ball in the SS and Gestapo are going to want credit for the capture of a British-American mutant Resistance fighter. Which means they’ll be slow.”

“And if he’s still alive, and if we find him, and they’re two big “ifs”, Emma, you reckon we can get to him before they do anything we can’t undo? That Whitehall won’t have a thing or two to say?”

“Oh, darling, this is the SOE. 99% of the time, we’re so far ahead of those clowns in Whitehall that they haven’t even put their shoes on, and we’re already lining up for the next event. We’ll be there and back again before Whitehall notices out desks are empty.”

Logan nodded. “I’m guessing you’ve already got people looking out for Warren?”

“His profile is rather conspicuous.”

Logan allowed himself a small smile. He took a deep breath. “Guess I should go get some decent thermals, then.”

“You’re from Canada, darling. Surely Germany in winter isn’t that bad?”

Logan chuckled and pulled out the cigar. He opened the door, then closed it again. “Who else?”

“Pardon?”

“Who else knew about Lyon?”

“If you’re accusing Miss Lee…”

“Not her,” Logan said. “It won’t be her. Who else?”

Emma put her glasses down and rubbed her forehead. “Oh, shit.”

“Who?”

“Shit. He wanted Jean-Philippe for what’s called Hellfire Squad. Assassins. Your standard ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ kind of thing. I already had Fantomex on my roster, and had to explain why he really couldn’t be in two places at once. It was just the basic brief, not the whole mission report, but - ”

“Who, Emma?”

Emma looked up at Logan. “Sebastian Shaw.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Miss Lee hurried back to the SOE office, the file tucked inside her satchel, which she kept a protective arm around, while the other hand tried to hold her hat in place against the bitter winds. Never had she wished so much that the SOE offices were closer to Whitehall, and should she ever have to return to the Ministry of Information, it would be too soon. It had been weeks since she’d began this search for information on a man whom no one seemed to know the slightest bit about, but maybe, just maybe, today she had the answer.

“Miss Lee!”

“Oh, sorry,” Miss Lee said, almost running straight into the gangly youth Benjamin Deeds as she entered the SOE offices.

“Are you going up to Miss Frost?” Deeds asked.

“Yes.”

“Give her this,” he said, stuffing a telegram into her hand. “It just came in from Oxfordshire. Top secret and top priority. Run.”

Miss Lee couldn’t explain why, but she took the steps two at a time as she ran up to Miss Frost’s office on the fourth floor. “Miss Frost - I - this if for you…” she panted as she put the telegram down on Miss Frost’s desk.

“You know you’re allowed to knock,” Miss Frost said as she opened the telegram, “That’s generally what a closed door implies. That one knocks before entering.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Miss Lee said, but Miss Frost wasn’t listening. She’d changed into her diamond form, and Miss Lee closed the door and awaited instructions. Miss Frost often changed into diamond when she read important telegrams and such. She couldn’t feel anything in that form, and thus, no matter what the dispatch said, Miss Frost’s emotions could never betray her. Miss Frost folded up the telegram, picked up a pen and began to write.

“Send a telegram to each of these people. I need them all here at 1400 hours. Pull whatever strings are needed to get them here.”

Miss Lee took the list and scanned the names. “Lady Elizabeth isn’t around. She returned to her family home.”

“Well thank goodness it’s in the Home Counties, and not Cornwall or the north or Wales or something,” Miss Frost said. “Tell her I want her here at 1330. I’d best speak to her first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Miss Lee said. “Oh, and I got this. Finally,” she added, pulling the file out of her satchel.

“Hmm,” Miss Frost said, taking the folder. “Nice work, Miss Lee.”

“Is there anything else, ma’am?” Miss Lee said, stepping back to the door and feeling quite proud of herself.

“Oh, there will be,” Miss Frost said, turning back to normal as she unwound the binding around the file. “There’s going to be an awful lot more.”

…

“I - oh, ah, hello there. Didn’t know I was going to get a roommate. Nice for a change though, I guess. Solitary confinement isn’t particularly my cup of tea.” The room was almost completely dark, save for a bit of light coming in under the door and through a slit in the wall which acted more as ventilation than a window, but at least it showed Warren that outside it was grey and cold. The little bit of light allowed him to see that he wasn’t alone. Warren sat down on the floor. There was an old blanket, which he took to be his bed. The room smelt of human waste and body odour, but at least there was some light, and some company. He’d lost track of time since arriving at the camp. Was it days or weeks since he’d last seen Elizabeth?

“If it’s not been solitary confinement,” Warren went on, pulling the piece of blanket over his knees to try and stop him from shivering, “Then I’ve been in a room full of goons, telling them everything I know. Usually different goons, but sometimes some of the same. Told my story at least four, five times. Tried to keep everything straight. No point in lying. Here’s a bit of fun though, don’t tell what you’re not asked,” Warren chuckled, though that made his chest hurt. The guards here had a penchant for roughness, and as such, his injuries from his capture weren’t getting much of a chance to heal. When the guards had moved him earlier, he’d feared the worst. One really can’t expect much else in such a place. But instead he’d been lectured by a senior guard in German in an office for a good ten minutes, before being marched over to a different part of the camp.

“Anyhow,” Warren continued, “Should they ever find themselves in London, they’ll know exactly where to buy the best shoes, suits and hats and anything else a gentleman could require. Silk handkerchiefs, pocket watches, dressing gowns. I’d like my dressing grown right now. My own bed. Gosh, I miss my bed. At least there’s a blanket in here. Is that was this is? There was nothing in the other room. The cell, I mean, not the integration room. My bed, plus Elizabeth, of course. She’s my wife. Elizabeth. It does feel good to be able to say that. I wish Betsy was here. Well, not here, of course. God, I’m so glad she’s not. I - I can’t even let myself think of what they’d do to her. I mean, I rather wish I was with her. Very, very far away from here. Sorry, captive audience, what? It just - well, I’ve either been all on my own, or been questioned by the SS and Gestapo and whatever other creeps have crawled out of the woodwork to see the latest freak show, that now I rather can’t stop. Terribly sorry, I - hold up. Are you blue?”

Warren’s eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and he noticed that the skinny fellow huddled in the opposite corner was in fact blue. 

“Gosh,” said Warren, “Well, you can no doubt see what defines me,” he said, forcing a smile to hide the sick feeling in his stomach. He knew what they’d do with his wings, and he was sure they were just waiting for the right doctor to arrive at whichever hell hole this was. He was no doubt a Very Important Specimen, and they wouldn’t want to muck the dissection up. “Well, that and I’m awfully rich,” Warren said, and chuckled again, “Not that this lot seem to care. I’ve tried to say I could pay any ransom, but they don’t seem to care. I have a very nice flat in Berkley Square. I told them that. Lovely views, elevator, butler, wife. Lovely views of my wife too. Elizabeth and I bought that flat together. Best square in Greater London, I say, and those clowns couldn’t flatten it. They’ve taken out most of the City, but the important things are still there. St Paul’s. St Paul’s is still there. Did you know that? Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve just had a thought. You don’t speak English, do you?”

The blue man looked at Warren. 

“English?” Warren asked. “Français? Though I can only speak school-boy French, so if you speak a dialect or whatever of it, then we’ll have no luck. Other than that I’ve got a bit of Latin and some Ancient Greek. Wonderful for passing school exams, not so great in the real world. Probably why I had to meet so many of those grey coated goons, to find some that understands me. I’ve been living in Britain since ’36, you see, and I believe I’ve picked up a bit of a twang, especially on some vowel sounds. Because I haven’t got a straight American accent anymore, and neither is it purely British, it makes me a bit hard for them to understand. Sorry. I’m very hungry and sore and tired and it’s really a case of talk or cry. I’m shaking and cold and - I’m Warren, by the way.”

The blue man didn’t reply. 

“Umm,” Warren said, “My name is Warren,” he said slowly, pointing to himself. “Warren.”

“My name is Kurt,” the blue man said slowly, with a think German accent.

“Oh Kurt, you can speak English,” Warren smiled, and held out his hand. 

Kurt shook it. “Little. Small, little.”

“That’s fine. We’ll manage,” Warren said, shuffling closer to Kurt, but keeping a hold of his blanket. “I’ve got friends, Kurt,” Warren said, lowering his voice, “The race against time is on, but they’re coming. My friends are coming. I just know it.”

“Elizabeth?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah,” Warren said, “She’ll be coming. We just have to hold on. Hold on and hope. They’re coming. I know they’re coming.”


	8. Chapter 8

Emma waited until she and Scott had finished their dinner before she said anything. She was home late again, and, as always, Scott had waited to eat with her. Nathan was at Sam’s house, and due home at half-eight, Rachel and Kitty were chatting in their room, and the twins were in the bath, but would have to get out soon. Just enough break the news to Scott before commencing motherly duties, then. 

“We found Warren,” Emma said as she finished her last mouthful of food, putting down her knife and fork.

Scott looked up. “He’s alive?”

“Yes,” Emma said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “I can’t say much, but thought you ought to know. We only found out this morning, and are in the process of planning how we’ll get him back. Leave sometime next week, most likely. There’s a few key pieces of intel we need to confirm, but there’s no point waiting too long. I assume I’ll have to work all weekend, sorry about that, darling, but if we can get him back, it’ll be worth it.”

Scott pushed back his chair and picked up the plates. “You’re not using a royal ‘we’, are you?” he asked, facing away from Emma as he placed the plates in the sink.

“Darling…”

“Emma,” Scott said, turning back to her, “I just need you to be straight with me.” 

“They’re my team,” Emma said, standing up. “My people.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“If he was your team, your person…”

“You’re my person, Emma.”

Emma pushed her chair in and looked away. Scott was too sincere. Too real. Too close. She craved the closeness, and everything about him, yet, “I better go and get the twins out of the bath.”

“Emma…”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“I never would. I just - _I’m_ scared.”

Emma sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, but this is something I have to do.”

“I know,” Scott sighed, and went back to the sink. “Ask Rachel and Kitty to come down and help with the dishes, would you?”

“I’m going to come back, darling. That is part of the plan.”

Scott didn’t reply. Emma half wished he’d shout and yell and put his foot down as her husband and force her to stay. But he didn’t. He never did. And that almost made this worse. 

Emma sighed. “If we go, we all go together.” She looked up the stairs and at the photos decorating the wall, then stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door. “That’s what we promised each other when the war broke out. Together, or not at all.”

“I know,” Scott said, “But that was different. That was to keep our family together.”

“You could come,” Emma suggested, “You’d be - ”

“Useful?” Scott smirked.

“Good,” Emma said, “You’d be good on the team. Less of a hot head than the others. God knows we could use someone stable.”

“No,” Scott said, wiping his hands on a hand-towel. “You’ve already got plans for me, and I don’t need to be a telepath to know that. I’m right where you need me, and that isn’t in France or wherever else you’re headed. That’s the price; you get to save the world, I do the washing up and the running around with the children. It just - I guess I always had knew something like this would happen. And it scares me more than I can say.”

Emma walked across the kitchen and wrapped her arm around Scott. “If this was the other way around, and you were running off to France, I’d be making a right fuss. I’d tie you up. I - I can’t lose you.”

“I know,” Scott said, stroking her hair, “So lucky we’re this way round, then.”

“Is it because it’s Warren?” Emma asked. 

Scott shrugged, holding her tight. “I guess. I’ve known Warren since I was about Nathan’s age, so you’d better bring him back. ‘Scholarship Scott’ with the funny-coloured glasses and Warren Worthington III, heir to the Bank of America or the very concept of stocks and bonds or whatever it is, boarding school room mates. For years, I saw more of him than Alex. You’re certain he’s alive?”

“As certain as we can be.”

Scott nodded, feeling oddly relieved. “I know where I’m needed, and I’m equally afraid of what I’d become if pushed down your line of work. I like being daggy dad with the knitted jumpers and literal rose-coloured glasses, who can fix tennis rackets and sew up skirt hems and de-grease the oven and help with the homework. I know how unromantic that sounds. I know it’s safe and boring, working 9-to-5 at Whitehall, even if it is the Ministry for Defence. Maybe I could be some hero who saves the world, but I don’t need to. I don’t need that. It’s enough to save ration coupons, to save what we have right here.”

Emma pressed her face against Scott’s chest and breathed in his smell. “I know,” Emma sighed, gripping the back of his jumper. He changed out of a suit the moment he came home. She was still in her heels. He spoke with such pure honesty. It was only fair if she was too. “But I need this.”

“I know, and I don’t begrudge you this,” Scott said, “Tell me what you need me to do, and it’s done. We’re still in this together, Emma, only I think now we’ve different parts to play.”

…

“Betsy?” Brian knocked on the door and waited. “Bets?”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply, remembering to breath. She hadn’t noticed she was holding her breath. She checked her watch. It had only been a few minutes. Or an hour and a few minutes? This needed to stop. It all needed to stop. “Come in.”

Brian opened the door and poked his head in. “Everything all right? Just checking you hadn’t started to change. Not that I’ve never seen you get dressed, but not for, you know, about twenty years or so. Betsy? Are you all right?”

Minutes, then. He was waiting for her to change for dinner. He’d said that when she’d walked in, that dinner would be soon. She’d come back home after the meeting, grateful to make the last train to her family home in Essex. Emma had been - well, Emma had been herself. She hadn’t given anything away, spending a lot of the meeting in diamond form. She didn’t cut corners, or try to take the edge off. Warren was alive. Why was this so hard to accept?

“Elizabeth. Are you sure you’re all right? If you don’t want to come down to dinner - “

“Shut the door,” Elizabeth said.

Brian stepped into her room and closed the door behind him. Elizabeth continued to force herself to breath.

“What’s your security clearance?” Elizabeth asked.

“What?”

“Security clearance.”

“I’m a propaganda model, Betsy love. Captain Britain and Captain America, here to save the day. England expects every man to do his duty, whatever that entails. I haven’t even held a real gun since we got back from Dunkirk. Well, not military issue, anyhow.”

“Brian…”

“Not as high as yours,” Brian sighed, and guided Elizabeth to the bed. They sat down. “What’s happened?”

Elizabeth lent against her brother. “I can’t say. I can stay tonight, but…then I have to go again. Back to London. Later in the week, we - I’m…”

“Understood,” said Brian, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “And you’re afraid?”

“Only that we’ll be too late…”

“Is there anything useful I can say or do?”

“It was all just a bit of fun until the other week,” Elizabeth confessed, looking at the carpet. It was funny how you could sleep in a room for years and years, and never really look at the carpet. “Like some ‘Boys And Girls Own Adventure’, playing at pilots and spies and special agents. It got too real too quickly, and I - I’m…”

Brian hugged Elizabeth and kissed the top of her head. “Whatever happens, love, you’ve got a home here. You’ve got family who love you. It’s all right to be afraid. It’s even all right to cry about it every once in a while. But there is hope, Betsy.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and felt tears wet her eyelashes. “I thought I was supposed to be the telepath, and you’re the one who punches things,” she said, her words muffled as she buried her face in his jacket.

Brian rubbed her back. “Once you get back over there, make sure you stab some Nazis for me with that glowing sword of yours. The brass won’t let me see a snip of action unless the deem it ‘safe’, whatever the heck that’s supposed to mean when you’re at war.”

“Can’t lose Captain Britain.”

“Exactly. And now that I’m a father, well, it does make things hard. I’d go up against an army alone if it meant protecting my wife and child.”

“You’d probably win.”

Brian chuckled. The dinner gong rang. “Ah, Bets,” Brian said, holding her close “Better get changed. Time and tide wait for no one.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Miss Lee!”

“Yes, ma’am?” Miss Lee asked, entering Miss Frost’s office. 

“Right. Well, I’m going now,” Miss Frost said, looking around. 

“Oh,” Miss Lee said. Four days ago they’d received the news that Angel was alive, and had spent most waking hours since then organising the mission to get him back. The hours had felt like days, yet had flown by at the same time. “Umm…”

“If I don’t come back,” Miss Frost said, pulling on her coat, “Everything on my desk and in my top draw gets sent to my family. Everything in those filing cabinets goes to archives. Everything in my bottom draw and that cabinet gets burnt. Understood?”

“Burnt?”

“Yes. In a fire. I trust you can manage that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And these,” Miss Frost said, handing Miss Lee three envelopes, “They’re already addressed. Send them in ten days, if I’ve not returned. One for my husband, one for the Prime Minister, and one for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, Miss Lee. For you. If, in ten days time, I’m not back.”

“But…” Miss Lee knew there was no chance that Miss Frost and the team would be back so soon. 

“Keep my seat warm, Miss Lee,” Miss Frost said, buttoning up her coat.

“I - Yes, ma’am.”

Miss Frost nodded. “Very good, Miss Lee.”

“Miss Frost?”

Miss Frost took a deep breath and turned back to Miss Lee, who now stood in front of her desk. “Yes, Miss Lee?”

“Jubilee.”

“Sorry?”

“My - codename, I guess. Jubilee. It was the Jubilee Year when I first got my powers, so…”

Emma smiled. “Best of luck, Jubilee.”

Jubilee grinned. “Same to you, ma’am.” Emma turned and walked down the hallway, then disappeared down the stairs. It was strange for Jubilee to be in Miss Frost’s office all alone. The scent of Miss Frost’s perfume lingered. Jubilee walked around to the other side of the desk and sat in Miss Frost’s chair. She opened the top draw. There were a few nice pens, a spare pair of stockings, a couple of handkerchiefs, a lipstick, and a bottle of French perfume. She closed the draw looked at the letters, one addressed to Mr Summers at his War Office address, one to the Prime Minister at Downing Street, though Jubilee suspected that somehow someone there would know that this was not ordinary mail, and one to her.

Jubilee picked up Miss Frost’s letter opener which lay upon the desk, and tore the envelope open. 

…

Elizabeth knocked on the door and waited. A few moments later, Ororo appeared.

“Oh, Betsy. Hullo. Is everything all right?”

“Take this,” Elizabeth said, handing Ororo a small, blue box. “Please keep them safe. It’s everything that makes me good. It’s what makes all this mean something. It has to be.” She turned back down the hallway, unable to face Ororo. 

Ororo opened the box to peep inside, and understood. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Inside the box were three rings, Elizabeth’s engagement ring, and Elizabeth and Warren’s wedding rings. “Betsy!”

Elizabeth stopped at the top of the stairs.

“Everything that’s good is still in here,” Ororo said, poking Elizabeth on the back. 

Betsy’s shoulder’s slumped ever so slightly. “Where I’m going, it can’t afford to be.”

“You’re a good person, Lady Elizabeth. Whatever you do. You are a good person.”

“Ro…”

“I’ll keep them safe. Try to keep yourself safe. I can’t - I don’t want to lose both of you.”

“If I don’t come back,” Elizabeth said, forcing herself to avoid eye contact, lest she began to cry, "Have them melted down. Make it something nice. Something worth keeping.”

Ororo threw her arms around Elizabeth and kissed her on the cheek. Elizabeth closed her eyes and hugged Ororo tightly. 

“I - I’d better go.”

“Come back. You have to try.”

“…I’ll try.”

…

“Where are you going?” Rachel asked, stepping into Emma’s study. She’d been lurking for a little while, and had finally got the courage to come in. 

“Portsmouth.”

“Lie.”

Emma didn’t bother to look up.  “Darling, don’t even dream about poking around in my head.”

“I could help.”

“No. I’ll come in and say goodbye to you and Katherine before I go.”

“I could help,” Rachel repeated. “It’s not fair that you won’t let me.”

“Life’s not fair. Shoo, Rachel.”

“Are you going to the continent? Is that what you’re doing? I could help. I could - ”

“No!” Emma snapped. “No, you couldn’t. You’re a child, Rachel. A girl. A schoolgirl. If you’ve done your homework, then go to bed. You cannot help here.”

“It isn’t fair!” Rachel cried.

“Of course it isn’t bloody fair!” Emma yelled, “It isn’t fair that your mother died, or that after marrying me your father dragged you across the world, or that the Luftwaffe try to raze our country every night, or that people are being killed in their thousands every day just because Herr Hitler didn’t think Germany was big enough! None of it’s fair, Rachel. Get out of my office.”

Rachel didn’t move. Tears welled in her eyes. “You have to stay out of my head too.”

“Get out.”

“It’s not fair,” she sobbed, and wiped her eyes. Emma saw her for what she was, a scared girl, just wanting to help. Scared.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, walking around the other side of her desk, and trying to sound gentle. “Really?”

Rachel shook her head.

“You’ve been lurking half the night. What’s wrong?”

Rachel sniffed and wiped her eyes, and projected her thoughts ever so slightly.

“Oh,” said Emma, and almost felt bad for yelling. 

“What happens to Kitty? Do we have to send her back?” Rachel asked in small voice.

“I don’t know if there’s anywhere to send her back to,” Emma answered honestly. “Kitty’s safe with us. Your father and I will never send her away. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to anyone,” Rachel mumbled.

“I know.”

“Lots of girls have jobs…”

“I know,” Emma said, not wanting to yell again. “They do. But you’ll have an education. Trust me, darling, it’s for the best. If I could, I’d have all those working girls in school, but their education is not up to me. Yours is.”

“I bet you weren’t stuck at school during the last war while everyone else was helping.”

Emma laughed darkly. “Oh, darling, of course I was. I’m not that old. I didn’t even finish school until ’23.”

“Your brother died in the last war.”

“I thought we were staying out of each other’s heads?”

“Sorry,” Rachel muttered, looking at the floor.

Emma sighed. She seldom spoke about her family, and had never told the full story to Scott’s children. Scott himself was different. He knew everything. “Christian was a solider in the Great War, signed up the day he turned 18, the family couldn’t have been prouder. Two years later, the War was finished, but what he’d seen… he took morphine to help him sleep. One night, he took too much. He was 21. My brother didn’t die in the War, but the War killed him all the same. I was told by my Headmistress. Imagine that. Fourteen years old and you find out that your beloved brother is dead by some fat old uncaring cow who has told too many girls in the past few years that their family isn’t what it used to be. That’s why you stay at school. I will not let this war kill you too.”

Rachel looked up at Emma. “Don’t let it kill you either. My mom already died once…” She turned and left Emma alone in her office. 

…

Remy looked around the bedroom they’d been assigned at the military training facility. Emma had pulled a few strings to get them a double room, which was now empty, save for the bed, the small wardrobe, chest of draws, and desk. “All ready, _mon cœur_?” he asked Rogue.

“Ready as Ah’ll ever be,” she replied. Anything they’d acquired over the past couple of weeks had been packed into a suitcase and sent off to be stored. Once again, it was just the two of them and the clothes on their backs. 

“Back to the frying pan, then,” said Remy.

“Ah think we’re headed straight for the fire this time, sugah,” Rogue said, turning off the light and closing the door. “No back-up, no angels comin’ to rescue us.”

“This time, we’re saving the angel,” Remy said, taking Rogue’s hand.

“It’s long odds.” They’d discussed the mission a number of times since the meeting with Emma a few days prior. They’d been given the option to back out, but both knew that if they didn’t say yes to this mission, they’d only be assigned to another team they didn’t know, for a mission they may not fully understand. Besides, Warren had done everything he could to save Rogue. She felt as though she owed him something in return.

“Ah, my favourite kind,” Remy grinned, swinging Rogue’s arm as they walked out to their awaiting transport.

…

“The twins have a birthday party at 10 on Saturday.”

“What time does it end? Nathan has football at Harrow at 11:30.”

“Ask one of the girls to pick the twins up then, it’s only just up the road. The girls have a history essay due on Monday, and I think they both need new hockey socks, but I don’t know if there’s any available.”

“I’ll get them to ask after training on tomorrow night.”

“And one of Nathan’s school socks needs darning. Get him to do it, don’t let him palm it off onto one of the girls.”

“Yes, I’ll tell him that. And the recipe for the Christmas pudding is in the top draw?”

“Yes, make it next weekend, trusting you can get hold of everything.”

“I might be able to use your ration book. Is that legal?”

“If you get away with it, who cares? Do you know if your father’s going to be in the country for Christmas?”

“No, but I’d say Alex will be coming here. I’ll see if he’s working this weekend. It would be good to catch up.”

“Yes, you should. The children would like that.”

Scott and Emma reached the front door. The children were all asleep. Other than Rachel, and likely Kitty, they were under the impression that Emma was heading down to the coast for training. It was easier for Scott and Emma to talk like this than to face what was about to happen. This was their lives too. This is what they were fighting for. For birthday parties and sports matches and homework and Christmas. 

“I’ll try and book us a house in the countryside for the Christmas holidays,” Scott said, “Somewhere far from London. Six bedrooms, so no one has to share.”

“Except us,” Emma said, reaching up to kiss him.

“Except us,” Scott breathed, wrapped his arms around her. They kissed in the hallway for a moment, before they heard a car pull up outside. Emma stepped back, and pulled her gloves out of her pocket. Scott looked at her, all dressed in black; black trousers, black boots, a long black coat, black gloves. No bag, of course. Anything she needed she was either wearing, or it was carefully tucked away in hidden pockets, or sewn into the lining of her coat. Scott noted how much shorter she was without high heels on.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Emma said, resting one hand on the doorknob.

“I - ,” Scott began, but the words caught in his throat. “I love you.”

Emma nodded, “Rightly so. And I guess, Scott Summers, I - ”

Scott grabbed Emma before she could finish and pulled her close, kissing her passionately. Neither made an effort to stop. Eventually, they stepped apart. Scott opened the door and Emma pulled on her gloves. They stepped out into the night, holding hands. The night was dark, the street was quiet, and the driver was standing beside the car and opened the door. Scott tried to think of something to say, but not a single word came to mind.

“Don’t fret, darling,” Emma said, as they walked towards the car, “I’m positively unbreakable.”

“Come home.”

“Always.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re early, Logan,” Emma said, as he opened the car door.

“My ride was quick, and ain’t got nowhere better to be. You ok?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Emma asked, climbing out and straightening her coat. The night was still, but the air was icy.

Logan closed the car door. “Scott ok?”

“How about we all stick to minding our own business.”

“Just asking.”

“Please don’t, and don’t make me remind you which of us is in charge in front of the others. The line of command is thus; me, Elizabeth, you. Do I make myself clear.” 

Logan shuffled his feet. It was one thing to question Emma back in London, but it was a different game they were playing now. “Yeah, I got it, change the subject. I’ve spoken to our pilot, and looks like everything’s good to go. Rest of the team should be arriving over the next quarter of an hour. Here we are,” Logan said, leading Emma into a hanger.

“Wonderful.”

“All the team is coming?”

“Please be direct,” Emma said.

“Fantomex. Did Lee get through to those boffins down Whitehall?”

“Yes,” Emma said.

“And?”

“He’s not who he thinks he is.”

Logan considered her words for a moment, making sure they made sense. “Is he a danger?”

“Not to himself I don’t believe. And more of a inconvenience than a threat to the rest of us.”

“Totally putting my mind at ease, Ems.”

“I do try,” she looked at Logan, “If he stuffs up, and the situation should go in such a direction that your claws end up in his chest, there really won’t be any tears shed.”

Logan smirked.

“Oh, good evening, Miss Frost.”

“Good evening, Agent Brand,” Emma said, shaking hands with Agent Abigail Brand, commander of a rather clandestine branch of the RAF and their pilot for the evening. 

“Cup of tea?”

“Please.”

“Logan?”

“Thanks, Brand.”

“Excellent,” Agent Brand said, “Mr Logan, you’ll find the tea room two hangers down. I take mine black, one sugar.”

Logan looked confused, before ambling off, deciding against crossing their pilot else he find himself with the dodgy parachute. Emma and Brand looked over the maps, and were shortly joined by Elizabeth (Logan being sent to procure another cup of tea), followed by Remy and Rogue, and finally Jean-Philippe. 

“Ah, another beautiful English belle,” he said, taking Agent Brand’s hand and kissing it. “Shall you also be joining us on our adventure? The more the merrier.”

Agent Brand raised her eyebrows. Betsy had to look away to suppress a giggle.

“Bub,” Logan said, putting a firm hand on Jean-Philippe’s shoulder, “Just don’t.”

…

The bell rang to call the recruits to training. Monet put down her book, slid off the bed, and grabbed her coat from the back of the door. Standard issue. At least it was cut well, but she wasn’t exactly a fan of trench-coats, regardless of who the supplier was. As she opened the door, her bag fell from the hook, having been dislodged by the removal of her coat, and the contents scattered across the floor.

“Dammit.”

Monet bent down and hurriedly picked up the pieces, throwing them back into the bag. She reached for a little blue box, put her hand hovered over it. The box was hers, only… Monet grabbed the box and sat on her bed, her heart pounding. She had sold this. She’d had to. It had been woefully undervalued by the man in the pawn shop, the metal alone was worth three times what he’d given her, not to mention the stones, but she had been desperate. 

Carefully, she opened the box, and inside was her necklace, the silver chain with a silver ‘M’ pendant filled with small rubies. Monet had received it one birthday when she was about five or six. The original chain had broken and been replaced with a longer one ten years later. Monet ran her thumb over the M, then put the chain around her neck, her fingers working the clasp by matter of habit. But how had they known? Who…

_“Hold onto this, will you.”_

“Bloody telepaths,” Monet muttered. 

_Tap tap._

Monet sighed. Now she was going to be reprimanded for being late. “You in there Miss St Croix?” Captain Cassidy’s Irish brogue was unmistakable. Monet considered herself to be in big trouble if the leader of the facility himself was here to see her.

“Oui?”

“There’s a lass here to see you, miss.”

“I don’t know anyone,” Monet said.

“From the office of Miss Frost.”

Monet jumped up and opened the door. “What does she want?”

The Captain smiled. “Top secret business it is coming from the likes of there, miss. Best you come see the lass yourself. I’m not about to stand against the workings of our dear Miss Frost.”

…

It took the team a couple of hours to find one another and reunite, having been scattered over several of miles of French countryside upon landing. The Gestapo were also generous in their distribution of anti-telepathy shields, to detect and stop any mutant telepaths co-ordinating with the Resistance, therefore Emma and Elizabeth were wary when it came to using long-range telepathy.

Upon landing, Rogue had ended up tangled in a tree, but was soon found by Remy.

“I forgot how beautiful the fruit in France is,” Remy said, helping her down.

“It ain’t funny,” Rogue said, though now she was safe in his hands, she was beginning to see the more humorous side to the situation.

“You could have broken free,” Remy smiled.

“And fallen flat on my face? Ah don’t think so.”

“You wouldn’t bruise.”

“Ah knew you’d find me.”

“Course you did, _mon coeur_ ,” Remy said, “I will always find you.”

Reunited, the team began to head west, needing to find a town to determine their exact location, and thereby next course of action. A plane flew by, high overhead, hidden by cloud cover.

“Brand will be back by now,” Elizabeth said, glancing up at the clouds. She and Emma walked ahead, with Remy and Rogue behind them, followed by Fantomex, and finally Logan bringing up the rear.

“Six is too many,” Emma said, looking back at the group. In the barren countryside, they were much too conspicuous. 

“You want to split up?”

Emma shoved her hands in her pockets and forced herself to look ahead. “You know how can go over something a thousand times in your mind, but then the reality is nothing like how you envisioned it?”

“Are you referring to jumping out of a plane into hostile, occupied territory in order to go into to more hostile territory to save one man, or adult life in general?” Betsy asked.

Emma looked at Betsy and smirked. “Touché.” 

…

“Do you have a plan?” Monet asked as they walked up the staircase inside the SOE complex.

“Do I look like I have a plan?” Jubilee hissed. The train ride back to London had been annoying enough. The sooner she could return Mademoiselle St Croix to the care of the good Captain, the better. How was it possible for anyone to be this annoying? 

“You look like you got dressed in the dark.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Jubilee asked, having never thought twice about her mustard coloured coat and favourite pink jumper. They were comfortable and warm and she didn’t need any uppity French girls telling her otherwise. Just because Miss Frost always looked as though she’d stepped straight out of Jermyn Street didn’t mean that everyone else in her office could afford the same.

Monet rolled her eyes. “Don’t feel so self-conscious.”

“Reading people’s thoughts is rude.”

“So is breaking into their offices.”

“We’re not breaking in. I have a key.”

“You stole the key.”

“Miss Frost acquired the key.”

“Probably through theft.”

“We’ll be in and out. Everything will be fine,” Jubilee said, wishing Shaw’s office wasn’t up so many stairs.

“I don’t need to read your mind to know you do not believe that.”

“How about we don’t talk?”

“Best idea you have had all day.”

“So I get no credit for giving you an outing from the training facility?”

“It was not your idea. It was Miss Frost’s.”

“Your name wasn’t actually in the letter.”

“How many other mutants do you know?”

“A lot.”

“Then why not ask them?”

“Because…” Jubilee thought for a moment, but the true answer would only inflate Monet’s already massive ego. Monet could do everything and was perfect at it all. Jubilee glanced back at Monet over her shoulder. Perfect hair, perfect complexion, looked like a model despite wearing standard-issue uniform, telepathy, super strength, flight. Anything anyone could do, Monet could undoubtedly do better. On paper, she was the perfect team member. In practice, she was a stuck-up, pain in the arse. “No talking, remember?”

They stood outside Sebastian Shaw’s office. Jubilee pulled the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. Inside, the office was much like Miss Frost’s, though fractionally smaller and the window overlooked the building next door. Miss Frost clearly knew when and how to extend her influence. 

“I’ll check the desk draws,” Jubilee said, carefully closing the door behind Monet. “You start in that cabinet over there.”

“What exactly am I looking for?” Monet asked, forcing the draw open and staring at the folders, “The heading ‘betrayal of my country’?”

“Operation Black King.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the code name.”

“Roi Noir?”

“No, Black King. English.”

“No,” said Monet, pulling out a file, “Roi Noir.”

Jubilee looked up in surprise. “Open it.”

Monet unwound the string and opened the file. There were only three pages inside, one typed, and two of notes handwritten in some style of shorthand. 

“He didn’t even try to hide it…” Jubilee said, looking at the pages.

“It was in his locked office, in what was a locked draw.”

“How did you unlock it?”

“Force.”

“Huh. Right, well, time to go,” Jubilee said, shoving the papers back into the folder, and securing it. She tucked it under her arm and opened the door, only to find Sebastian Shaw standing on the other side, key-in-hand. 

“Run!” Monet said, shoving Shaw aside and leaping into the hallway. 

“You can’t fight him! He absorbs energy!” Jubilee shouted, racing after Monet as Shaw scrambled to his feet.

“Can he fly?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Then hold on,” Monet said, grabbing Jubilee around the waist and leaping over the balustrade as Shaw yelled and lunged for them.

“We don’t generally flaunt out powers!” Jubilee yelled, gripping Monet’s coat.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No I don’t! Get us out of the building.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Monet shouted as she made for the foyer.

“And hold onto me tightly for a moment,” Jubilee said, loosening her grip on Monet’s coat.

“Why?” Monet said.

“I need a hand free to create a bit of a distraction.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Where to now?” Monet asked. They had landed on a rooftop a couple of blocks over from the Baker Street offices. Monet had been afraid to fly much further with all the anti-aircraft guns around, and Jubilee found the whole experience rather unnerving. 

Jubilee drummed her fingers against the file. She needed a plan. What would Miss Frost do? Emma had left three envelopes, with Jubilee’s including the basic outline of how to catch out Shaw. But Shaw had seen them, so now what? Not to mention the rather large fireworks display Jubilee had provided inside the office. It was one thing for everyone to think she was odd, it was another to let everyone in the SOE know that she and Monet and Miss Frost by association undeniably, obviously mutants. 

“Jubilee? Now what?” Monet asked.

“I - ” Jubilee looked out across the rooftops towards Big Ben. The second envelope. “Whitehall. We need to see Scott Summers.”

They caught a cab to Whitehall, Jubilee having decided that they needed to look as official as possible. She didn’t know if they were in trouble, and just prayed that whatever Emma’s letter to her husband had said had prepared him for the possibility of Jubilee showing up at his office. They had no problems getting into the War Office, but then had to figure out how to find Scott Summers.

“I don’t like it here,” Monet muttered.

“Why not?”

“I - my telepathy doesn’t work.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jubilee said, “There’s anti-TP blockers in here. That’s kind of why Miss Frost ended up down at Baker Street.”

“I was hoping to get the information out of someone’s head…”

“Not this time,” Jubilee said. “Guess we’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way.”

“That is…?”

“Ask,” Jubilee said, “Excuse me, miss. We were expecting to meet with Mr Summers.” 

Five minutes later, they were standing in the office of Scott Summers. It was about half the size of Emma’s office, and close to overflowing with paperwork. Scott leaned back in his chair.

“I’d offer you a seat, but…”

“There’s not really room?”

A couple of photos stood on Scott’s desk, acting as paper-weights; one with five smiling children, and one with Scott and Emma. Emma didn’t keep photos of her family at work. Jubilee supposed it wasn’t worth the risk. She felt comfortable here with Scott, as he was much less terrifying than his wife. Jubilee and Monet explained what had happened with Shaw and the folder and their literal flight from Baker Street. Scott looked over the few papers inside the folder and listened patiently.

“And now we’re here,” Jubilee said.

Scott nodded. “Did you read my letter from Miss Frost?”

“No, sir,” Jubilee said, “I just sent it with the courier.”

Scott nodded again and stood up. “Did Shaw know Emma was leaving last night?”

“I - I think so? Or guessed after she didn’t arrive at the office this morning.”

“Did he know who else was on the team?”

“Probably just Jean-Philippe. And maybe Logan? And Lady Elizabeth?”

Scott pursed his lips.

“You have a plan, monsieur?” Monet asked.

“Currently four,” Scott said and sighed. “But I have a really bad feeling that we’re already too late.”

Scott Summers was every bit as well-connected as his wife, and easily called up a few favours, which swiftly saw the arrest of Sebastian Shaw by MI6, ensuring that he would be safely and quietly locked away and tried for high treason in time. Scott was not about to allow Shaw the satisfaction of a high-profile arrest and trial. There was a problem, however. Early that morning, Shaw had sent an encrypted telegram to France, and they had every reason to suspect that this was to his contacts at the Gestapo. 

“Thank-you for your assistance,” Scott said, as he returned Monet and Jubilee to the foyer of the War Office building early in the afternoon. He looked pale and stiff and somewhat absent. “You can return to work. Carry on as you were.”

Monet and Jubilee slowly walked back towards Baker Street. Jubilee had it in her mind that they would eventually hop on a bus, but for now, both needed to walk.

“Did we help?” Monet asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What will happen to Miss Frost?”

Jubilee shrugged.

“I am sorry,” Monet muttered.

“Why?” Jubilee asked, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Maybe not,” Monet said, “But we do not know which branch Shaw sent that telegram to. Regardless, word is likely to reach my brother of a band of mutants crossing France. He - ” Monet sighed. “I am sorry.”

“Maybe he - ”

“He sold out our family, Miss Lee. He was allowing me to suffer alone. He - if he knows they are there, he will find them. I am sorry. He will not let them return.”

They walked in silence past Trafalgar Square and headed up towards Piccadilly Circus. Scott Summers knew this. Maybe that’s what his letter had said. How had Emma known she would be betrayed? Why didn’t she have Shaw arrested before she left? Jubilee looked at Monet, who seemed smaller now. Less perfect. “I wish you knew Miss Frost better,” Jubilee found herself saying. “She’s bossy and kind of mean, but you really want to impress her, you know? And she - I don’t know your brother, and he sounds completely rotten, and I’m sorry about your family, I really am, but you don’t know Miss Frost. I don’t know your brother, but I would put my money on Miss Frost any day of the week. Also, you definitely need a codename, because Monet St Croix is a totally fine rich, French-girl name, but it is not going to work in this line of business.”

“Codename?”

“Yes, a codename, like, you know. Jubilee. Or Miss Frost. Or Rogue.”

“I know what codename means,” Monet said, her eyes glancing at boarded up shop windows. They walked past a jewellers which was only half boarded up. Necklaces and rings glittered in the window. Monet’s hand moved absent-mindedly to the pendant hanging around her neck, tucked underneath her shirt. “M.”

…

They arrived in what was once a busy little market town, but was now close to deserted, and those who remained were very wary of travellers. Logan found an empty barn nearby, which the team settled into for the night. It protected them from the wind and the damp, though the walls did little to keep out the cold. Remy and Rogue headed into the town to see if they could find any food, while the others found what hay remained to make the space as comfortable as possible, using a single torch to provide a little light.

Thankfully, they had landed relatively close to where they’d wanted to be, though there was still quite a lot of ground to cross before reaching their destination, and all were aware that it would take too long and they’d be much too exposed should they stay on foot. 

“Hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” Rogue said, as she and Remy returned. Logan secured the door as best he could. With a couple of heavy hitters on the team, he wasn’t so worried about them getting out if needs be, than any unwanted guests appearing during the night. 

“The poor town,” Remy said, taking a seat on an old crate, which groaned under his weight. “There is just nothing.”

“This was all we could get,” Rogue said, pulling a small loaf of bread out from under her coat. They’d brought minimal rations with them, but it was best to eat fresh food when available, and save their rations.

“We brought money,” Elizabeth said.

“Money’s not the problem,” Remy said, “They got no food, Psylocke. You don’t understand. Rationing in Britain is a feast compared to rationing here. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve put on weight.”

Rogue tore up the bread and handed it out. “Woulda been nice to have a fire.”

“We can’t risk being seen.”

“Ah know, but Ah’m still allowed to say it,” she sat down at Remy’s feet and leaning against him, finishing her ration of bread in two bites.

“Camping in the countryside, and not a bottle of wine to spare,” Fantomex said, wrapping his coat around himself as he lay down. They were all exhausted after having no sleep the night before and walking all day. “What I would give for a bottle of Bordeaux…”

The team made themselves as comfortable as possible, huddling together for warmth. “You put your hands anywhere on me,” Logan mumbled to Fantomex, “And I chop ‘em off.”

“Do not worry yourself, M. Logan,” Fantomex said, “I know when I am next to a beautiful woman, and by your smell alone, I know I am not.”

Gambit whispered sweet nothings to Rogue in French, Logan blocked his ears, Fantomex dreamed of sunnier days, and Emma and Elizabeth both found themselves wishing their respective husbands were there, cold, hard ground, dangerous territory and potential suicide mission be damned.

//Emma?// Elizabeth psi-asked, wondering if she’d always been this cold. 

//Mmm?//

//I think we’re being followed.//

//Oh darling, I’d be embarrassed if we weren’t.//

Betsy considered Emma’s response. //Are we in immediate danger?//

//No more than any other Resistance band,// Emma said, carefully putting up psychic walls around her mind to keep Elizabeth from prying.

//Don’t bullshit me.//

//Try to get some sleep.//

//I can’t.//

//I know. Try anyway.//

//How much danger, Emma?//

Emma sighed and rolled over to indicate she was ready to sleep. //I’m almost certain we’ve been betrayed. And to be honest, I don’t completely know what that means.//

//Warren…// Elizabeth felt sick. She clenched her teeth together and wrapped her arms around herself.

//I am sorry,// Emma repeated. She wished Scott was there to say all the correct, gentle, comforting things. //I - try to get some sleep.//

…

“Do you ever dream about everything burning?” Rachel asked, staring up at the ceiling. 

Kitty rolled over and looked at Rachel lying in bed on the other side of the room. “No?”

“I do.”

“Like London burning? With the Blitz and all that?”

“No,” Rachel said. “Everything in the whole world.”

“A nightmare?” Kitty asked, not sure why Rachel was bringing this up, or where she was going with it.

“Not really. Not the dream itself. I think - it’s scary because it doesn’t scare me as much as I think it should.”

“Well, it is just a dream. It’s not real.”

“I know. But how come I can see what the whole world looks like, burning?”

“Well, you know what Rivendell looks like, and the Mirkwood Forest, and hobbits and elves and dwarves. And they’re just made-up places and things in a book. It’s like that, I guess. Made up. A fantasy.”

Rachel considered this for a moment. She rolled over towards Kitty. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“Good. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Kitty rolled over towards the wall. The room was quiet, but she could almost hear Rachel thinking. “What?”

“Do you know what the universe looks like?”

“More stars?” Kitty suggested. Why couldn’t Rachel ask her science questions at more convenient times? 

“Sort of,” Rachel responded, but she sounded further away than just a couple of feet across the room.

“Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

_“Strong deliverer, strong deliverer_

_Be thou still my strength and shield.”_

“Not that there will be a ‘next time’,” Emma said, slipping into the pew opposite Elizabeth, “But perhaps tell someone where you’re going.” She’d realised that Elizabeth was missing before she was even fully awake, and headed out to find her. The morning was bitter and the land covered in frost and in any other circumstances, the silent town would have looked rather romantic in the starlight. Emma had found Betsy in the church with minimal psychic effort, her soft, sweet singing having also been a give-away.

“I did,” Elizabeth said, sitting down and looking ahead to the altar. Surely it was too early for a lecture from Emma. “I told Logan.”

“Oh yes. Wonderful, terrific, given how universally renowned Logan is at his communication skills.”

“I told him I was coming here, and that I wanted to be left alone for a while. He respected my decision.”

“That isn’t how this works,” Emma said, annoyed that she cared so much, not so much that Betsy had wandered off alone, but that something could have happened to her. It didn’t matter that she was an extremely powerful mutant, it mattered that this area was crawling with spies for both sides, and, now it was morning, Emma was convinced they had enemies on their tail. 

Elizabeth shrugged and didn’t bother keeping quiet her thoughts of wishing Emma had left her alone.

“Also, why were you singing in English?” Emma asked. "At least choose something in Latin, so as not to be so totally obviously foreign. Besides, I thought you were Catholic. Don’t you people do everything in Latin?”

“I went to Roedean, I know the Church of England songbook as well as the best of them,” Elizabeth said. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, each working on barricading away their fears. “Even if we have been betrayed,” Betsy said, “I don’t think, I - Warren is still out there. I’d know if he wasn’t. I’m sure I’d know… I - ah, I don’t know if I’m feeling everything or nothing. I don’t know if I can tell the difference anymore.”

Emma looked ahead at the altar and forced herself not to slip into diamond form. That was the only way she was capable of feeling nothing, and now the Elizabeth mentioned it, it was just what she wanted. “Trust your powers. Back yourself. Try to come out of this alive.” Gosh she wished Scott was there to do the motivational speeches.

“You too,” Betsy said.

“Oh, darling,” Emma said, standing up and heading up the aisle, “I will flatten the whole damned continent if I have to, but I will go home. We depart in ten.”

…

 Jubilee was somewhat surprised that there was a car to pick her up from home, but she would have been lying to say it was a total shock. She was hoping all events of the day before would have been brushed under the carpet and into thirty-year secrecy archives. Evidently, not yet.

She rode in the back of the car, and it wasn’t long before she realised they were not going to Baker St. 

“Umm, where are we going?” Jubilee asked the driver, though she had a pretty good idea.

He looked at her in the rear-view mirror but didn’t respond. Jubilee held tightly onto her bag.

A few minutes later they were driving through Whitehall, then past Westminster Square and St James’ Park. The car stopped outside a building with a plaque reading "Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company”, but Jubilee knew better. Jubilee was lead inside the building, escorted up a couple of levels, and into a small room with no windows and only one door. There was a table with three old, definitely non-mutant men sitting along one side, and a single chair for Jubilee on the other. The door was closed behind Jubilee, and she would have sworn she had heard the lock click shut.

“Good morning,” she said, trying to sound assertive. “Nice wallpaper. Better than our office.” One of the men rolled his eyes. Jubilee put down her bag, took off her coat, arranging it over the back of her chair. As she pulled out the chair to sit down, it made a scraping noise on the floorboards. “Sorry. We have carpet. Carpeted floors, but uglier wallpaper. I guess you can’t win them all.”

“We need to ask you a few questions,” the gentleman in the middle asked.

“I’m sure you’re welcome to Baker Street,” Jubilee said, arranging her skirt. She wished she could sit still. “Or you could send a telegram. Or a letter. Or - you, know, use the telephone.”

“What’s your full name?” the man on the left asked, fiddling with the nib of his pen.

“Pardon?” Jubilee asked, suspecting she should be addressing these men as ‘sir’, but deciding not to. 

“Your full name.”

“You don’t know who I am?” Jubilee asked. All three of the men gave her such a look that Jubilee found herself intimidated into compliance, “Juliana Bao Lee. Juliana was the name of the midwife who delivered me, if you really want to know. My parents weren’t totally up with English girl names at the time, but they wanted me to fit in as much as possible, so - ”

“Place of birth?” the man on the left asked, cutting Jubilee off.

“Bristol. Or do you want the whole street address?”

“Nationality?”

“You know where Bristol is, right?” Jubilee said, deciding that if these men were going to ask her stupid questions, they were going to get sassy answers. “On the west coast? In England? With all the ships and the estuary and stuff? English.”

“Parent’s nationality?”

“Well, they’re from Hong Kong, so - sorry, where is this going?”

“We require your co-operation, Miss Lee. Are you apropos to the whereabouts of Mrs Emma Summers?”

“I - I don’t think - I…” Jubilee stammered, the question catching her off guard. She had been expecting questions regarding Sebastian Shaw, not Miss Frost.

“How about Lady Elizabeth Braddock? Or Mr James Logan Howlett? Or - ”

The door swung open, “Miss Lee!” 

Jubilee turned to look at the intruder.

“Who are you?” one of the gentlemen asked.

“Oh, no,” grumbled the one in the middle, recognising the intruder.

“Oh, yes,” Jubilee smiled, relief surging through her as she realised she hadn’t been breathing.

“Miss Lee, you’re not to say another word. Get your things, we’re leaving.”

“That door was locked, Agent Brand,” the gentleman on the right said.

“Well, you’re going to need a new lock. Also, it’s Commander to you, Agent,” Abigail Brand said, pulling her gloves back on. She was dressed in a standard-issue black trench-coat, and wore her signature green-tinted glasses. There was a rumour that she worked for a secret branch of the RAF, but Jubilee wasn’t sure she believed that.

The three gentlemen looked extremely uncomfortable. “You have no authority here. How dare you interfere? I will see you reprimanded for this.”

“I have every authority here, and you’re not my boss,” Commander Brand said, “And, oh yes, your boss is not my boss. Miss Lee, today if you don’t mind.”

Jubilee had never had so much trouble with her coat, but finally managed to pull it on, grab her bag, and hurried out into the hallway. 

“I’d shut the door,” the Commander said, “But the lock and handle are broken.”

It took all of Jubilee’s strength not to laugh as she looked back at the stunned and embarrassed faces of the men at the table. She quickly followed Commander Brand out of the MI6 offices and into the car waiting in the street. Jubilee stayed silent while the car took off. She had seen Commander Brand at Baker St a couple of times when she’d come to visit Miss Frost. There was something about the Commander which Jubilee couldn’t quite place, but she admired the woman possibly even more so than her own intimating manager.

“I’m not trying to kill you, Miss Lee,” the Commander said.

Jubilee took that as her queue and burst out laughing. Once she’d settled down, she was able to ask the Commander how she’d found her. 

“One of my people in MI6 tipped me off,” Commander Brand said, “Miss Frost asked me to keep an eye out for you. After yesterday’s events, I knew that the clowns in the Circus would want more information than they were provided with, and more than they are entitled to. I’ve told Captain Cassidy not to let anyone into the custody of said clowns. I figured they’d collect you fairly early. The Chinese immigrant girl and the French refugee. You’re certainly a interesting band.”

“Are we in trouble, ma’am?” Jubilee asked.

Commander Brand smirked, “Miss Lee, should those morons try to speak with you again, show them your security clearance card. Just because they’re old, white and male, and you’re just a secretary, doesn’t mean that your clearance isn’t miles above theirs.”

“Really?”

“There’s a reason that lot are still in Broadway, and not at Baker St or somewhere even more fun. If someone doesn’t know where Miss Frost is and what she’s doing, then that’s because they’re not supposed to.”

“And you do?”

“Miss Lee, I was the bloody pilot.”

“Oh,” Jubilee said, impressed. She looked outside at the familiar street as the car slowed. “Wait, this is…?”

“When was the last time you had a day off?” the Commander asked. The car stopped and the driver got out. He came around to open the door for Jubilee. 

“I - what do I do if I need you again, ma’am?” Jubilee asked as she climbed out of the car.

“Try not to, but if you do, I’ll know, and I’ll find you.”

“But - ?”

“Happy Saturday, Miss Lee.” The driver shut the door, hopped back into the car, leaving Jubilee wondering just how she’d ended up in this whole situation.

“But it’s Friday,” Jubilee muttered as the car drove off into the mist.

…

The team had again spent the day walking west, avoiding main roads and any villages where possible. Emma spend a lot of time in diamond form, claiming uncomfortable shoes and a way to avoid the hunger and cold. This way, she could ignore the feeling creeping down her spine that they were slowly being surrounded, and be sure no one else was in her mind. 

Shortly before nightfall they reached a forest, and their options were narrowed down to following the main road or risk getting lost in the trees. They needed somewhere to stop for the night, but the damp forest presented a grim option, so they continued to walk.

“Ours or theirs?” Rogue asked, looking up at the clouded sky as a mechanical buzzing echoed through the trees.

“That noise ain’t planes, bub,” Logan said, squinting at the dark road ahead.

Emma changed her form back to normal and cast her mind out as far as she dared. “Logan, Remy and Jean-Philippe, hide. We’ve got this.”

“But Mademoiselle Frost - ”

“We’ll not let you fight alone, _mes amis_.”

“They’ll shoot you on sight. Hide!” Emma ordered.

Logan placed as strong hand on Remy and Fantomex’s shoulders and lead them into the trees.

“How many?” Rogue asked, as the women continued walking up the road. A light appeared ahead, and was coming closer. The sound was now undoubtably motor vehicles.

“Seven in two trucks,” Emma responded. This was a stroke of unexpected luck. “All normies. They’re armed, but…”

“They won’t be for long?”

Elizabeth pulled her scarf up over her hair. “It’s actually quite unfair when you think about it,” she said as the trucks rumbled closer. They slowed as they saw the three woman walking along the side of the road. “I mean, they really don’t stand a chance.”

“We could do this without a single punch,” Emma said, standing tall and straight.

“Ah kinda would like to punch a Nazi.”

“Oh, Rogue darling,” Emma smirked, “I said we _could_ do it without a single punch.”

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Hey, dad…?”

Scott looked up from the crossword. “All ready for bed?”

“Will there be air raids tonight?” Rachel asked.

Scott noted that her dressing gown was too short. How long had it been like that? He wondered if, despite rationing, he could get her a new one for Christmas. “Probably.”

“Near here?”

“Possibly.” There was no point in lying about this, and Scott did his best to remain calm. The children knew the drill all too well should the air raids be near by. There had been nights, huddled together in their Anderson Shelter, than he wondered if keeping the children in London had been the best idea after all. Only he couldn’t imagine the house without them. Without the children and without Emma, he’d have no reason to ever leave the office.

Rachel stuffed her hands into her dressing-gown pockets. “I’ve been having… bad dreams. Like when mom died.”

Scott pursed his lips and tapped at the newspaper with his pen. “You were only four when your mother died.”

Rachel shrugged. There was more she wasn’t saying, but Scott wasn’t going to push her.

“Come here,” Scott said. Rachel walked around the table and sat down on the kitchen chair beside him. Scott put his arm around her and kissed her on the head. “They’re just dreams, Ray. I’m no psychologist, but I’d say it’s normal under the given circumstances. They’re just dreams.”

Scott tried to keep the images in his mind from Rachel. Images from years ago, holding Jean’s body as she burnt with fever, the cemetery that autumn morning, the new house in New York City, Emma, the ship that would take them to a whole new life, Emma, new job, new schools, new babies, Emma, the world cracking at the seams, Katherine, Emma, war, Operation Dynamo papers on his desk, the Blitz, Emma… This wasn’t the life he’d imagined for his baby when he’d first held her in his arms all those years ago. But they’d never been apart, so Scott could say he kept that much of his promise Jean. He wouldn’t even let Emma send the children to boarding school.

“Do you know when Emma will be back?” Rachel asked.

Scott sighed. “Christmas miracle?” he said, and forced a smile.

“I don’t even need to be a telepath to know you’re a really bad liar.”

Scott chuckled. He’d been married to telepaths for nearly twenty years, and had fathered four, but could still barely lie. “I know,” he said, “But its still worth the try.”

…

The Nazi soldiers had left behind their coats, helmets, and weapons, before wandering a mile into the woods, where they would then sit and wait until dawn. They would then proceed east, and surrender any and all knowledge to the first group of Resistance fighters they could find. They would also realise that changing sides would be their only hope at staying alive, and would spend the rest of the war, or their lives, whichever ended first, fighting to free France. Assuming the Resistance didn’t just put a bullet through their brains, of course, but Emma couldn’t control the thoughts and actions of everyone.

The team swapped their own coats for those of the soldiers, and inspected the trucks. One was a mobile radio truck, with plenty of equipment they were keen to explore in the daylight. There was also a small amount of rations, some of which were happily consumed. The team divided themselves between the two trucks, Rogue, Remy and Logan in one, Elizabeth, Emma and Fantomex in the other. They turned the trucks around and headed west.

They took shifts driving through the night. When dawn finally came, they stopped briefly to fully inspect the vehicles. Fantomex looked at the radio equipment, Logan took note of the fuel, and Emma found where about they were, and where they were headed, on a map.

“What if we’re found by someone else?” Rogue asked, trying to calculate how many days worth of rations they had found, and figure out what exactly was in some of the tins.

“We’ve got two telepaths,” Elizabeth said, “And if that doesn’t work, I can tell that Logan is just itching to stab someone.”

“Ah don’t know why Emma didn’t kill those soldiers last night.”

Elizabeth looked over at Emma, who was talking with Logan and Remy. “Would it sound completely mad if I said it was because she’s still trying to protect us?”

“By not letting us kill Nazis?”

“She did let you punch one in the face.”

“Ah’m not saying that wasn’t cathartic, because it was, Ah just…”

“I know,” Elizabeth said. I don’t think o _ur_ mission is _the_ mission, she thought, but didn’t say as much to Rogue. She would have loved to spoken frankly with Emma, asked her what on earth they were really doing, but the moment was never quite right.

They were soon on the road again, now heading slightly southwest, ever close to the camp. Around midday they passed another German military vehicle, who paid them no heed as it trundled toward France. An hour before nightfall, they stopped again to eat and rest for a short while.

//Can you feel that?// Emma asked Elizabeth as they finished their tinned of tinned roast beed and hard bread, courtesy of the soldiers who had previously owned the trucks.

//The massive, gapping hole where I should be feeling the life-signs of people?//

//I’ve never felt psi-blockers like it.// They were still ten miles out from the camp, but the two psychics could already feel the mechanic forces working against them.

//I don’t think they’re just psi-blockers,// Elizabeth said, //I think those are power blockers.//

“Right,” Emma said, and the team gathered around. “My husband is wonderful at pep-talks. Absolutely brilliant. Sometimes he writes speeches for politicians and the like to read on the wireless to improve national moral. I don’t do that. We know what we’re doing. We continue on in five.”

…

Sitting in the back of the truck as it rumbled up to the check point of the camp, it finally occurred to Elizabeth as to why her mind was so full of song. As she’d said to Emma, the Church of England songbook had been drilled into her at school, and now her mind was running through it to keep her own thoughts and fears and the projected thoughts of the team, and the few other people they had seen since landing back across the Channel, at bay. Now, arriving at this true hell on earth, she needed to keep herself sane, and her brain delivered songs to her on autopilot.

She closed her eyes to try and calm herself, and saw the train transporting her to Brighton. What she wouldn’t give for one more day at school, Ororo by her side. Grey tunics, starched shirts, scratchy woollen jumper. Finding empty quadrangles and vacant classrooms in which to practise their mutant powers. Biscuits and sweets being sent from home, with the occasional hamper from Fortnum and Mason’s. Their dormitory, warm and snug in winter, stuffy and hot in the warmer months, with the wall to her left, and Ororo’s bed to her right. Homework, hockey practise, choir, chapel.

School hadn’t been been good because it was school. It had been good because of Ororo. Someone to share her secret mutant powers with. To train with. To try to make to laugh in chapel, to blame for the rain during gym, to steal food off in the cafeteria, and to share sweets from home with. As the truck bounced along, Elizabeth found herself wishing Ororo was there now. She could bring down a thick fog to keep the truck hidden, she could make it rain to provide them with safe drinking water, she could tell Elizabeth that they would save Warren. That it wasn’t her fault. That she wasn’t stupid, that this wasn’t all some mad folly.

Elizabeth owed Ororo so much. She had to try.

Find Warren. Get out. Get back.

Emma and Rogue would find a way to remove the power dampeners. Betsy, along with Remy, Logan and Fantomex would find and rescue Warren. By any means necessary, save endangering their own lives.

Right now, Emma’s ulterior motives and missions were irrelevant.

The gate was opened, and the truck drove into the camp.

“ _Soul by soul, and silently…”_


	14. Chapter 14

Emma and Rogue climbed out of the truck, which was parked alongside the fence, far from any of the entrances or lookout towers. Not that there was much to lookout for here. They were in the very definition of the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest. There were no villages for miles and miles, not a farm nor a cottage. Nothing here but trees, muddy roads, and the camp. A quick look at the fence told Emma that the flat, quarter-inch, thick grey wire with the copper wiring facing inwards towards the camp was the one conducting the energy which reduced their powers. Something rather similar ran alongside the electrical cables inside many of the Whitehall offices, but that only blocked telepathy. This seemed to block everything. It sat between the mesh fencing and the miles and miles of coiled barbed wire above.

“We need wire cutters,” Emma said, going around to the back of the truck, popping her coat collar up against the breeze.

“Why are there so many huts?” Rogue asked. Their eyes were well adjusted to the night, and there were lights scattered throughout the camp. The flat ground allowed Rogue to see that the rows of huts seemed to go on for miles. No one could been seen though. Curfew.

“Why do you think?” Emma grumbled, sure they were being to loud. Someone would hear. Someone report them. She didn’t want a fight unless there was no other choice.

“Is this where they’re keeping all the people they take? But - there’s so many.”

“Yes,” Emma said, flicking on her torch as she peered around in the back of the truck. The boys and Betsy had taken the standard truck, she’d taken the one with the radio equipment in the back.

“What are they doing here? Is this a factory or something?”

“Or something,” Emma replied. The batteries on the torch were running low. She shook the torch, and it emitted a little more light.

“Do they use slave labour to make weapons and the like?”

Emma bit her lip and forced herself to breathe. She wanted to turn to diamond form, but the damned dampeners were messing with her head and she felt as though she couldn’t remember how to change. Rogue didn’t know. The rest of the team hardly knew. There were rumours, of course, but they didn’t know. Emma hadn’t known. Not for certain. “Come and help me find the wire cutters,” she said, praying that her voice didn’t crack. Emma felt nauseous, and could feel a migraine coming on, only she wasn’t sure if the pain was entirely hers or was being projected from inside the fence.

“Ah thought Warren was put in prison. This - this isn’t what Ah was expecting.”

“I know. Look, Rogue…”

“That’s a lot of people they’ve taken. There must be thousands. Are - are there other places like this?”

“Stop talking and help me look,” Emma said, shaking the torch again. “Everything’s all over the place back here. Bloody Jean-Philippe couldn’t have driven over any more potholes if he’d tried. For God’s sake…”

“The smoke over there is from the factory, isn’t it, Emma?”

“Rogue, will you help me look.”

“The smell is - smelting metal? Right?”

Emma could hear growing panic in Rogue’s voice. “Rogue…”

“Is this the only place like this?”

“Dammit, Rogue!” Emma snapped, snatching up a rag to wrap around the handle of the cutters once she found them, hoping to reduce the risk of electrocution.

“What is it, Emma? Why are here? What is this place?”

“Help me, will you?” Emma said, before catching a glimpse of the wire cutters underneath an overturned toolbox.

“Are we going to help them, Emma? Is that why we’re here? Betsy gave me this. I - ow - I can use this. She makes it look so easy.”

“What are you - ” Emma grabbed the wire cutters and peered around from the back of truck. “Rogue, NO!”

A purple knife glowed from Rogue’s hand. “We can help,” Rogue said, reaching up towards the power-dampening wire.

“No, Rogue, wait. WAIT!”

Rogue cut the wire. It slackened and dropped down. Emma dropped the wire cutters and rag and grabbed her head as thousands of voices filled her head. “Ahhh, shit…” she forced herself into diamond form, and the pain went away.

“See, Ah told ya Ah could…”

“Dammit Rogue! What were - ” Emma looked up at Rogue.

Rogue stumbled. She caught Emma’s eye and her body swayed violently.

“NO!” Emma yelled and rushed forward, grabbing Rogue before her head could hit the ground. “No, no, Rogue, come on, stay with me. ROGUE!”

…

Getting in had been easy. The was only one guard at the gate who hadn’t even bothered to check for identification when a truck with two officers sitting in the front seat had pulled up. Betsy and Logan sat in the back, ready to strike should things go amiss. Perhaps the camp was awaiting visitors. Perhaps it was supposedly so secret, that they never expected an attack. Perhaps the guard was just tired and hungry and didn’t care any more.

“Was that too easy?” Logan asked.

“Dunno, _mon amie_ ,” Remy said, “But it felt it.”

“Where too now?” Fantomex asked. “I have to drive with a purpose, otherwise they’ll notice something’s off.”

“We need the power-dampener turned off,” Elizabeth said, “Then I can psi-search for Warren.”

“There’s a lotta folks here, Bets,” Logan said, “There’ll be a lotta noise.”

“I think I can find who I’m looking for,” Elizabeth said, and rubbed her forehead. She could feel a dull, thudding pain, which she knew would only intensify once the power dampener was turned off, but it was there only way of finding Warren in this would-be slum-city of wooden huts and only a handful of more permanent buildings.

“Is it just me,” Remy asked, “Or is this place a lot bigger and a lot sadder than you expected?”

“I don’t know what I expected, bub,” Logan confessed. “But this place reeks of death.”

Jean-Philippe drove purposefully up what looked like a main road, before reaching the end and turning onto a perpendicular road. The team sat in silence. “This is taking too long,” he said at last.

“Just give them a - agh!” Elizabeth grabbed her head in her hands as her telepathy came back in a painful burst. Her eyes filled with tears as she fought through the cries of the thousands of helpless souls.

“ _Oh, c’est mangifique! Rogue, mon coeur!_ I knew she could do it!” Remy exclaimed.

“Focus Bets, come on, bub,” Logan said, giving Betsy’s leg a squeeze.

His touch gave her something to focus on. “Logan…”

“I know, Bets, I can smell ‘em. Focus. Find Warren.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and put her fingers on her temples. “Logan, I…” She was afraid they were too late. That there were too many other voices. That they were at the wrong camp. That she couldn’t do it. That the other voices would overwhelm her.

“I’m right here. Find my mind if you need me. Come on, Bets. Where is he? We need a direction.”

Elizabeth inhaled. //Warren? Warren, we’re here. Warren?//

…

“Hmm?”

“Mmm?”

“What?” Warren propped himself onto his elbows. “Kurt?”

“Ja?” Kurt mumbled, his voice thick and sleepy.

//Warren?//

“Betsy?”

“Was?” Kurt asked.

Warren swallowed.

//Warren, please, please respond.//

//BETSY?// “Kurt, get up! Get up!” Warren cried, stumbling to his feet before pulling Kurt up. //BETSY, I’M HERE! I’M HERE!//

“Was ist…”

“They’re here, Kurt. They’re coming to get us!”

//WARREN! We’re coming. We’re inside the camp. Can - can you walk?//

//Yes. Ready and waiting, Bets.// Her voice in his head felt like magic. Warren ran his hand through his hair.

//Hang tight. We’ll be there in a few.//

//I’ve made a friend. He’s one of us. We’re taking him too.//

//All right. That’s fine. I - I love you.//

//I love you too, Elizabeth.//

“Warren?” Kurt asked, rubbing his eyes and holding onto the wall for support. “Do you feel… powers?”

Warren’s wings ached, but he felt a strength in his body which he hadn’t for weeks. “I feel it. Get ready, Kurt.” He turned and looked at Kurt. “Brush your hair and tuck your shirt in,” he said and grinned, “You’re about to meet my wife.”


	15. Chapter 15

Warren could feel Elizabeth getting closer. She was so near. To feel her in his mind… it felt like the most natural thing in the world. She was stressed and tired and overwhelmed, but she was here. The team was here.

“Warren…” Kurt asked, looking at the door.

“I hear it,” Warren said. Footsteps marching down the concrete corridor outside their cell. Just because they knew their allies were nearby, didn’t mean that those footsteps were friendly. //That you, Bets? Because you’re scaring the pants off us.//

“Anyone standing near the door? If so, I recommend taking a step back.”

“ELLIZABETH!” Warren shouted.

“You heard her, stand back, bub.”

Warren grabbed Kurt and stood against the back wall, grinning from ear to ear. A bright purple light appeared through the door, the lock cracked and the door swung open. “Hello darling. I wouldn’t pick this hotel again. Bit of a hassle to get to and the security is rather strict.”

“The food is appalling too.”

“We’ll have to write to management.”

“Oh God…” Warren laughed, and fell into Elizabeth’s arms. He felt almost impossibly light. He knew that he smelt and was in need of a shave, but it didn’t matter. They were saved.

“All right, all right,” Logan said after a moment. “That your friend?”

“This is Kurt,” Warren said, regretfully removing himself from Elizabeth’s embrace. “He’s coming with us.”

“Come on, bub,” Logan said, taking Kurt but the arm. “We got places ta be. You two can reacquaint later.”

“What are you wearing?” Warren asked as they stepped out into the hallway, the flickering lightbulb revealing Betsy and Logan’s grey coats.

“Borrowed some gear. Don’t worry, we got a spare in the truck.”

“This is insane,” Warren said, completely impressed.

“We’ve got food and water, too. You both look in need of a meal.”

“Ja, bitte,” Kurt said.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Logan said, glancing at Kurt “But in this light, you look blue, bub.”

“Ja,” Kurt said and smiled. He held out his hand. “Kurt Wagner.”

“James Howlett,” Logan said, shaking Kurt’s hand, “But folks call me Logan.”

“They will call you heroes,” Kurt said.

Warren was sure that Logan blushed. They reached the end of the hallway and stepped over the bodies of a couple of soldiers. The truck was rumbling gently just outside.

“Are they…?”

“Napping,” Elizabeth said, “When they wake, neither will remember anything from the last month.”

“I recommended a good stabbing, but Bets got to them first with the psi-KO.”

“I wouldn’t have objected to the stabbing,” Warren said.

“He can stab the next ones,” Elizabeth said. “We need this to be clean and quiet.” They stood in the door frame. The back of the truck was only feet away. Elizabeth scanned the surrounds. “Get in the back, and lie down. We’re getting out.”

Warren, Kurt, Logan and Elizabeth crossed the final few feet and clambered into the back of the truck. Warren and Kurt lay down, and were quickly covered with the spare coat. Warren smelt a familiar perfume, and pulled Elizabeth’s own folded-up coat out from under the seat and put it under his head. If she had noticed, she didn’t say. The truck started moving.

…

Emma awkwardly hauled Rogue into the front seat of the truck, and climbed into the drivers seat beside her. She changed out of diamond form and forced the voices out of her head as she turned on the engine. Surely someone would hear. Someone would notice.

//Elizabeth, time is against us.//

//We’re coming, Emma. We’ve got the cargo. Rendezvous in 10?//

Emma looked at Rogue’s unconscious body and turned the truck around, slowly heading away from the camp. She needed this conversation over as soon as possible. She needed to stop the voices. //As soon as you can make it.//

//Have you been spotted?// Elizabeth asked.

//We - I need Logan,// Emma said, knowing better than to cause panic. //You?//

//So far… almost too good? We’ll be there as soon as possible.//

//I’ll be in touch.//

//Understood.//

Emma changed back to diamond form, keeping her eyes fixed on the dirt track which passed as a road in these parts. “They’re coming, Rogue. God, Remy’s going to panic. But… Logan - Logan can help you. Like he did last time. You’re very lucky you know. It’s a very convenient power set you have. It’ll be all right. It will all be all right,” Emma said, wishing she believed a word she said.

…

“Everything all right?” Fantomex asked.

“Just drive,” Elizabeth said, kneeling behind the driver’s seat, feeling that something was very, wrong. She kept her eyes fixed on the gate up ahead. There were too many voices here, too many thoughts, and far too many ghosts. Emma could feel them too, but at least could block them out by changing her form.

“Were there that many at the gates earlier?” Logan asked, peering ahead.

“Remy, care to make a distraction?” Elizabeth said.

“You want me to blow something up?”

“I thought we were doing this quietly?” Logan smirked.

“Those brick buildings up ahead,” Elizabeth said, ignoring him, “They’re offices.”

“I need to get closer,” Remy said.

“Here,” Elizabeth said, pulling Fantomex’s gun from his holster before he could protest. Elizabeth forced herself to swallow and offer an encouraging smile. It had just struck her why Emma needed Logan, and it wasn’t because she needed something stabbed. “Could you charge the bullets?”

“Yes,” Remy grinned.

“That ain’t gunna remove those guards, Bets,” Logan said, “It’s only gunna piss ‘em off and make us look a clear bloody target.”

“Not if they’re asleep,” Elizabeth said, and all the guards up ahead collapsed where they stood. “Fantomex, keep driving straight. Got those bullets ready, Remy? Time to create a little administrative nightmare. Oh, and has anyone seen any paint back there?”

…

Remy sat in the back of the truck as it bounced along roads in varying states of disrepair, Rogue asleep in his lap. He had no idea where they were, whether they were back in France or still in Germany or if it really made any difference. He assumed they were heading west; Logan was driving, Emma in the passenger seat. Remy had the feeling that they were psychically talking to each other, but they never say a word out loud. Elizabeth and Warren had fallen asleep, wrapped in each others arms, slouched opposite him. Skinny little Kurt was asleep on the floor of the truck in between them. Remy didn’t understand how they could sleep.

Perhaps Kurt and Warren and Elizabeth were just so relieved that nothing else mattered.

Rogue was so unwell. She was deathly pale, and cold, and her right hand was severely bruised, with the bruising drifting down her arm towards her elbow. Emma suggested it might be broken, but without proper light, let alone a medical professional, it was too hard to know.

And Jean-Philippe?

After the two teams had reunited a couple of miles outside of the camp, Fantomex had taken the communications truck and headed south. Apparently he knew where a Resistance band was, and planned to join with them. Everyone changed back into their own coats, except for Kurt, who wore Fantomex’s civilian coat, and Warren, who took one of the German coats, but not before Elizabeth tore off all insignia. Fantomex took the remaining Nazi coats, hats, and anything else that could be used in the fight against the enemy, and disappeared into the night.

“You trust he won’t double-cross us?” Logan asked.

“That’s about as far as I do trust him,” Emma had said.

Remy could not say he had been sad to see the strange man go. There was something about Jean-Philippe that he didn’t trust. In fact, there was a lot about his fellow compatriot that he didn’t trust. Even the way he spoke seemed off. Perhaps it was because he was from the north of the country, and Remy from the south. Something about his mannerisms, the way he’d look at Rogue and Emma and Elizabeth, his love of weapons… there was something that wasn’t right about the man. But now he was gone, and Emma and Logan seemed satisfied, and no more was said.

Rogue shifted slightly.

“ _Mon cœur?_ ” Remy whispered.

Rogue moaned. Remy stroked her hair.

Once they’d got through the gates, graffitied the lookout tower with the cross of Lorraine with a V and X underneath, the symbol for the French-mutant resistance, and were headed towards the rendezvous place, Elizabeth had warned the team that she feared Rogue was injured. Remy wasn’t too concerned about ‘injured’. Rogue had been shot when they were fleeing from Lyon, and Logan had healed her then. Surely the same would happen now. When the teams were reunited, Logan had pulled off his gloves and taken her hands in his. Nothing had happened. He placed one hand on Rogue’s cheek. All had waited with baited breath. Again, nothing had happened.

“I’m not feelin’ it,” Logan said, “Last time, in the plane, I felt…”

Emma had nodded briskly. “It drained her powers.”

“What does that mean?” Remy had asked, but Emma had begun giving orders, things to do with Fantomex and the trucks and the coats and getting rations into Warren and Kurt. Rogue was handed over to Remy. He took the risk and touched her face with his bare hands. Rogue’s eyes had flickered, but hadn’t opened. Remy had not let her out of his arms since.

He wanted to be mad at Emma. How could she have let Rogue do this? Risk her life like this? What did she mean by “drained her powers”?

He wanted to be mad at Elizabeth, for lending Rogue her powers, and not having given her any guidance or training in how to use them.

He wanted to be mad at himself, for letting Rogue come on this mission. He should have convinced her to stay in England. He shouldn’t have let Emma split the teams up the way she had.

But he knew the truth. This had been Rogue’s choice. She never would have been left behind. She made her own choice, knowing the possible outcomes. She wasn’t stupid, and she certainly wasn’t naive. He bend down and kissed her forehead.

“Ah’m all right…” Rogue whispered, her voice sounding miles away. “Ya’ll ain’t getting rid o’ me that easy…”

Remy chuckled, relief surging through him and held Rogue tightly. She nestled her head into his chest, and Remy found that he felt very tied.


	16. Chapter 16

Outside, the eastern sky was beginning to grow lighter. Logan saw this in the side-mirror. He also saw that the petrol levels were getting dangerously low. They’d filled the petrol tank with all that was in the jerrycans before fleeing from the surrounds of the camp.

//How much further?// Emma asked, sensing his thoughts.

//Ten miles. Maybe.//

//Where are we?//

//Beats me, bub.//

Logan had tried to keep track of how fast they’d been travelling, but some areas had been slower, some stretches of road close to destroyed, or were treacherously slippery. And though he’d chosen roads that had mostly headed west, he knew at one stage they were headed almost due-south, and wasn’t sure how much they’d self-corrected. They had rumbled through a couple of silent towns, but none displayed any signage or any real points of reference.

//We being followed?// he asked.

//You keep asking, and I keep responding with ‘not overtly, but I wouldn’t discount it’.//

//You wanna make the call now?// Logan asked. He could smell Emma’s apprehension.

Emma took a deep breath. //Considering we don’t know where the next town will be…//

//Could be one mile, could be twenty.//

//Then I suppose we need to get it over with.//

Logan nodded. //I’ll pull over.//

…

“No,” Remy said.

“Remy, this is the best - ”

“ _Non,_ _c’est un plan terrible!”_

“Truck’s nearly outta gas, bub. They ain’t in any condition to walk back.”

“I don’t much like it either,” Warren said, “But I understand the logic.”

“It doesn’t involve you,” Remy snapped.

“Remy,” Rogue said softly, “It’s all right.”

_“Non, Rogue, ce n’est pas.”_

“I do not know - ” Kurt said.

“I believe in you, darling,” Emma said, and something in the way she spoke quite made Kurt believe in himself too.

Logan had stopped in the middle of the road. There was no point in trying to be inconspicuous; any locals were still tucked up in bed, and should a bevy of Nazis come along, then they would find themselves up against a motley crew of cold, hungry, sore, tired, pissed-off mutants. Despite this, time was of the essence. Everyone had taken a moment to relieve themselves, and breakfast rations had been handed out. While they were eating, Emma had explained the situation.

The truck was all but out of petrol, and they’d have to continue on foot. Rogue was too weak for this, and they couldn’t carry her for the couple of hundred miles that still stood between them and any hope of salvation. She needed time to recover, and they simply didn’t have any.

Kurt too was in a poor state. He explained that he’d eventually been caught by the Nazis, not for being a mutant, his blue fur and tail gave that away and his had registered his advanced acrobatic skills, but he hadn’t been so forthcoming to the authorities on explaining that his mutant powers extended to teleportation. He was finally arrested for transporting Jews out of Germany, across the mountains into neutral Switzerland. Kurt estimated that he’d made close to one thousand trips, often with two ‘passengers’. Someone must have tipped him off, because on one return, his apartment was filled with about a dozen members of the Gestapo, who caught him before her could jump himself away again.

“Why’d you keep going back?” Remy had asked.

“They needed my help,” Kurt replied, “I have to hope, what I did, that it helped.”

“It did,” Emma had said in such a way that ended the conversation.

Emma had explained that their best chance was for Kurt to teleport himself and Rogue to safety. London was closer than neutral Spain, and there they could get help. Lots of help. But Kurt had never been to London, and he explained that he could only teleport to places he had seen before. So Emma had allowed him a glimpse inside her mind, a cosy family scene, a kitchen with white cupboards and green tiles, a long breakfast table surrounded by wooden chairs, and a feint smell of roast pumpkin and hot chocolate.

“Can you jump there?” she asked. “With a passenger?”

“I…could try?”

“I can walk,” Warren said.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Emma had given him a small smile, “Because I don’t know if Kurt could make the jump with two passengers.”

Remy was less than impressed with the plan, questioning what would happen to Rogue if the jump went wrong. They hardly knew anything about this strange blue German with broken English and tail, _pour l'amour de Dieu_ , and more or less had to take Warren’s word that Kurt was most certainly on the side of the angels, even if he didn’t look like one.

“Ah won’t make the trip otherwise,” Rogue said. She sat on the edge of the back of the truck, Remy ever by her side. “Remy, sugah, Ah know Ah can’t. Ah need a doctor. Ah need rest. Ah’m sorry, but we gotta try.”

Remy shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” Rogue said. “But it gives us a chance. Me an’ Kurt. Me an’ you. On the other side.” She reached her left hand down and took his hand. Her right arm was slung up inside her coat.

To touch her skin without fear of being hurt…Remy looked at Rogue. She looked so sickly and pale in the early morning light. He turned and kissed her. “You have to be there,” he said, “When we come back across the Channel.”

“Ah’m already countin’ the hours,” Rogue whispered, Remy’s breath warm beside her face. “Ah’ll have a whole armada ready to bring ya’ll back, so ya’ll best get walkin’.” She wrapped her good arm around Remy, and slid off the back of the truck onto her feet. Remy held onto Rogue with both hands, and they kissed passionately.

Kurt shook hands with the team, but Warren wouldn’t let him get away without a hug. “Scott Summers is a good man. He’ll know what to do. Mention Emma’s name, and he’ll turn the world inside-out if that what it takes to help.”

Kurt nodded. _“Danke, mein freund.”_

Remy and Rogue stepped apart. Kurt moved forward and placed him arm around Rogue’s waist. “All ready?”

“As Ah’ll ever be,” Rogue said, her heart pounding in her chest, unable to take her eyes off Remy.

“Good luck,” said Emma.

BAMF!

…

“God help us,” Scott said, rubbing his brow. It wasn’t even eight o’clock on Saturday morning, and the children were already doing his head in. All he wanted to do was read the newspaper in peace. Was it this chaotic when Emma was home? He took a sip of his tea so that the children wouldn’t see him smirk, and to give himself a moment to think. Of course it was like this when Emma was here. It was probably worse. Scott put the teacup down. “Nathan, don’t touch Rachel’s things, and Rachel, don’t overreact. Kitty, find something else to wear. Your jumper will turn up somewhere. Girls, I’ll fix it, but you’ll have to wait. I want you all washed up, beds made, and pyjamas, school shirts and any other dirty clothes in the washing basket. And if you haven’t finished breakfast, well, get a wriggle on, please. We’ve got a lot to do, and - ”

BAMF!

The girls screamed. Nathan yelled. Scott swore.

Rogue fell to her knees and vomited.

Kurt collapsed.


	17. Chapter 17

“Is there an air raid?” Celeste cried.

“What? No,” Scott said, jumping to his feet and rushing over to the new arrivals.

“But that man’s in his pyjamas and coat like when there’s an air raid!” Sophie said, clinging to her twin.

“There’s no air raid. There’s no sirens,” Scott said keeping his voice level so as not to frighten the children as he knelt down beside Kurt. He didn’t need too many guesses to know where these two had come from. Scott could see Kitty out of the corner of his eye, and wondered just how much she knew about the camps.

“Dad, that man is blue.”

“Yes, good observation, Nathan. Help the poor women into the drawing room, would you?” Scott ordered. He found a pulse on the blue man.

“Are we under attack?” Nathan asked, not moving.

“Is he alive?” Rachel asked.

“Yes,” Scott said, as the barrage of questions started. He rolled the man onto his side. He felt almost as light as the twins.

“How did they get here?”

“Where did they come from?”

“Why is the lady in her proper clothes but the man in his pyjamas?”

“Dad, they literally just appeared from nowhere in our house!”

“Are you sure we’re not under attack?”

“Are more people coming?”

“Are we in trouble?”

Scott sighed, wishing he had answers for all of his children. “Help her up Nathan, but be gentle.”

Nathan pulled Rogue to her feet. “Come on, miss. This way. Don’t stand in that.”

“What do we do to help?” Kitty asked.

Something in Scott’s brain clicked. “Celeste, put the kettle on. Sophie, go and get the mop, but you don’t have to clean up the sick. I’ll do that. Kitty and Rachel, get Doctor McCoy.”

“But - ” Kitty tried to protest.

“I have an idea,” Rachel said, grabbing Kitty by the arm. “Come on.”

Kitty and Rachel grabbed their hats and coats, and hurried down the street.

“This isn’t the way to the station,” Kitty said.

“That’s because we’re not going there. There isn’t time. Come on, she’s your weird friend.”

The wind was bitter and the street acted as a wind tunnel, making it all the worse. Kitty and Rachel reached the Rasputin’s apartment looking quite dishevelled.

“What if they’re not in?” Kitty asked, as Rachel’s plan became all too clear.

“Where else would they be?” Rachel said.

Kitty knocked on the door and a moment later, it was opened by Peter.

“Oh. Good morning, Katya.”

Kitty blushed. “Good morning, Peter.”

Peter smiled kindly. He had sparkling blue eyes, thick black hair, and was very, very fit. “Good morning, Miss Summers.”

“Good morning,” Rachel said, nudging Kitty who blushed all the more, “Is Illyana here?”

“Of course,” Peter said, turning back into the house, “Snowflake! Your friends are here!”

Peter and Illyana had fled their small village in Russia at the outbreak of war. Illyana’s mutant power of transportation had allowed them to avoid the checkpoints as they crossed the continent, but when possible they had walked or taken the train. Their plan had been to cross Europe then travel across the ocean to America, but the war was progressing quicker than they could move, and Illyana had collapsed from exhaustion and starvation after transporting them across the Channel to England. With little money and less English, Peter had taken his sister to the nearest hospital where he’d been asked a hundred questions, until one of the doctors had realised that there was more to the siblings than met the eye. Hank McCoy had called the Summerses who had quickly intervened, and before long Peter and Illyana were given a flat in the same London Borough as the Summers family, their immigration papers were on the correct desks in Whitehall, Illyana was given a scholarship to the same school as Rachel and Kitty, and Peter was offered a job at a nearby factory which made tanks and other heavy vehicles. In the years since their arrival, Peter had become foreman at the factory, as well as a highly distinguished and extremely valued member of the London Fire Brigade’s Search and Rescue team, and, despite the fact that their adopted city was bombed by enemy air raids almost every night, the siblings had never felt safer.

“We need to take her out for a little while,” Kitty said.

“That’s fine,” Peter replied, and Illyana appeared behind him.

“Do I need my sword?” Illyana said as way of a ‘good morning’.

“And a hat and coat,” Rachel said. “It’s very cold.”

“It’s a balmy summers day,” Illyana said, grabbing her coat and hat from the hook beside the door. Rachel didn’t see where her sword came from. “You Britons do not know what real cold is.”

“I’m American and Kitty’s German,” Rachel said, though neither she nor Kitty spoke with much of an accent which would betray their origins. “Never mind. Come on, let’s go.”

“You all sound British to me,” Illyana said, stepping out of the house, “Goodbye, Peter. Have a nice day.”

The girls hurried to the square around the corner, which was empty on such a cold and gloomy morning. “Where to?” Illyana asked.

“St Thomas’s Hospital, London.”

“Is someone hurt?” Illyana asked.

“Yes,” Kitty said, thinking about the poor, sick woman shivering on their couch, and the strange-looking, unconscious blue man, last seen on the kitchen floor, and deciding there was no point lying, especially as Illyana was acquainted with Dr McCoy. “And we’re going to get a doctor.”

…

“There’s no chance our dear Commander Brand is going to fly by and scoop us up, is there?” Elizabeth asked wistfully.

Emma scoffed. “Brand’s done all she can.”

“What about a Bradshaw’s. You don’t suppose she could fly by and drop us off one of those, do you? Be mighty helpful. I’m trying to remember the best route to Calais, but without going through Paris - ”

“Under no circumstances are we going through Paris,” Emma said firmly.

After seeing off Kurt and Rogue, the truck had sputtered on for another 11 miles, before they rolled into a town where a little telepathy had encouraged two members of the local Resistance to meet with them. They’d handed over the truck and received geographic information. They were about 20 miles from Nancy, but dared not ask for a ride. They didn’t even know if the Resistance here had any petrol and if so, it was almost criminal to ask for a lift.

“There should be trains to Reims,” Elizabeth continued as she walked alongside Emma. The three men were about half a mile behind. Remy refused to so much as look at Emma, and Warren was thankful for the slightly slower pace being set. Logan just had a feeling which he suspected wasn’t entirely his own to hang back. “From there I think we’d need to get a train to Laon before changing for Lille, and of course Lille to Calais. Or Laon - Amiens - Arras - Lille. Depends on what trains are running, I suppose. Do we know of damaged tracks? How much to tickets cost? Oh, are we certain that they are even passenger trains running?”

“Some are,” Emma said.

“Oh, we could go Amiens - Arras - Boulonge-Sur-Mer - Calais. Actually, you might be able to go straight from Amiens to Boulonge. Sorry, it’s been years since I’ve been here on holidays.”

“You’re babbling.”

“You’re not saying much at all.”

Emma looked straight ahead. It was still many miles to Nancy. “I didn’t want to believe in that place,” she confessed.

“We’re done with that now,” Elizabeth said and swallowed. It was easier to fill her mind with train lines than reflect on what they’d seen the previous night. And until they were safely back in their home country, she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that, and that Warren had been there for weeks. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I was helping Logan navigate,” Emma replied.

“You should get some sleep,” Elizabeth said, realising that she didn’t recall Emma eating anything that morning either. “Perhaps we’ll get a compartment on the train. Maybe even a sleeper. Express Nancy to Lille. That would be nice.”

“I think that’s about as wishful as Brand flying past to rescue us,” Emma said, subconsciously gazing up at the empty sky.

Elizabeth followed her gaze. “It was too easy,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Emma said.

“If they wanted us dead…”

“Then they should have done it when they had the chance.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“We got Rogue out.”

“Did you plant something on her?”

Emma shrugged. “In a sense.”

“You’re being very cryptic.”

“What you don’t know can’t be used against you.”

“What are you - “

“Please,” Emma interrupted. “Talk about trains or planes or - ”

Elizabeth grabbed Emma by the shoulder and forced her to stop. “How much trouble are we in?” she demanded.

Emma pushed Elizabeth’s hand away and kept marching forward. “We can’t stop. We need to get away from here. Keep moving, and…”

“We’re being tracked.”

Emma just kept walking. “They’re toying with us. But the ones that got away… oh, they didn’t count on that.”

“What about Fantomex?”

Emma gave a slight smirk. “Like I said, what you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

“But it could get me killed.”

“Or save your life,” Emma shrugged.

“You agendas have agendas, you know that, right?”

“Oh darling,” Emma said, “You don’t know the half of it.”

…

“The girls have filled me in,” Doctor Hank McCoy said by way of greeting to Scott. He removed his coat in one graceful movement and hung it over the coat rack beside the door. It had taken very little convincing on the girls’ behalf to get Hank to come with them. “Any changes?”

“No,” Scott said, “The blue fellow is still out. The woman - her name is Rogue - she’s just in here.”

Hank peered into the drawing room, and saw the woman propped up on the couch with her eyes closed, wrapped up in blankets and rocking ever so slightly. “I’ll see to her first.”

“But wouldn’t - ”

“She’s awake and in pain, he’s unconscious, and thereby not. Keep a close eye on him though, Scott. Any signs that he’s going downhill, and I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“I’ve two very qualified hands right here, Nurse Summers,” Hank said, waving his fingers. “I’ll be quite all right, Scott, but I shall certainly ask for help should I need it.”

Scott nodded, and Hank entered the drawing room, closing the door behind himself. Scott could hear him talking softly to Rogue.

“What do we do now?” Rachel asked.

Scott looked at the girls. “You can take Illyana home,” he said.

“Good morning, Mr Summers,” Illyana smiled, “We are having an adventure.”

“Good morning,” Scott said, quite unsure as to what to make of his daughters’ friend. “Then, girls, I need you to go to the market. I’ve sent Nathan and the twins up the the church to see if they can get some second-hand clothes and such for our guests. I’ll give you the list, then rather you were on your way.”

“Come on, Illyana,” Kitty said, ushering her friend back outside.

Rachel followed Scott into the kitchen. “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“You know what this means though, right?”

“What’s that?” Scott asked, handing Rachel the list.

“They were with Emma. Just this morning. Just - well, about an hour ago.”

Scott nodded.

“She’s still alive, dad.”

Scott handed Rachel the shopping list, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the head. “Yeah, I know,” he nodded, and allowed himself to smile, “I know.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Sophie, she’s asleep in there!”

“So? The _Captain America_ show is about to start.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. It’s nearly 6 o’clock.”

“It’s Sunday. It’s not on on Sunday.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know everything, Rachel. It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“Well, I’m turning the wireless on anyway.”

It took Rogue a moment to remember what had happened and how she’d ended up back in England. She rolled from her side onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. The room was dark, though a line of line shone under the door, allowing her to see the outline of the furniture. It was a sitting room or drawing room or whatever they called it in England.

“No, Sophie! Dad!”

“Daaad! Rachel’s being bossy!”

“Sophie’s being thick on purpose.”

“No I’m not!”

Rogue sat up. Her head spun and her body ached and she was quite hungry, but she was warm. Everything smelt clean. She noticed she was wearing a nighty she didn’t recognise, and her right arm was bandaged up. She had a vague memory of a doctor who must have been about 12 foot tall. Then she had a bath. Then she’d had a little bit to eat and promptly fallen asleep.

“But we have to find out what happens next!”

“It’ll be back on on tomorrow, Sophie. I promise that you’re not missing out.” A man’s voice, patient and calm.

“But - ”

“She’s woken up Rogue.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel that she’s awake. I’m not prying.”

Rogue heard footsteps coming towards the door. There was a polite knock. “Miss Rogue?”

“Come in,” Rogue said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. The door opened, and three heads appeared, a gentleman with round, red-glassed spectacles, a ginger-haired teenager, and a little blonde girl. “Oh,” Rogue said.

Scott switched on the light, and was followed into the room by two of his daughters. “Good evening. I’m happy to bring your dinner in here if you’d rather. It should be ready in half an hour or so. We’re a bit out of order today I’m afraid.”

Rogue looked around the room, then to the people in front of her. There were a number of photos on the walls and the mantlepiece. “Oh,” said Rogue, realising exactly where she was. Emma had sent them home. To her own home. “Ya’ll Emma’s family.”

“Scott Summers, I’m Emma’s husband,” Scott said and smiled kindly, “We did meet earlier, but you were a little too dazed for proper introductions,” he said, holding out his hand. Rogue shook it awkwardly with her left hand.

“And you vomited in the kitchen.”

“Sophie, don’t be rude.”

“And these are two of my daughters, Rachel and Sophie.”

“Good evening,” said Sophie, going shy all of a sudden, and taking hold of Scott’s hand.

“Good evening,” Rachel said, “But I’m not Emma’s kid. Only the twins are. And Kitty’s kind of adopted. And - you didn’t know we existed, did you?”

Rogue shook her head. “Only knew what we had to know. Ah’m Rogue, by the way… but ya’ll knew that.”

“Is that your real name or your code name?” Sophie asked. “Don’t worry, we know all about code-names and secrets and everything that happens.”

“Ah - my real name’s Anna Marie, but no one’s called me that since I was 13. Ah just go by Rogue.”

“You talk American very well,” Sophie said.

“Thank-you?”

“We don’t really know everything that happens,” Rachel said, “The girls just think they do because we listen to _Captain America_ the wireless and read the _Famous Five_ which is a story in which bunch of kids solve a mystery.”

“Thank-you, girls,” Scott said, “Go and wash up now. Rogue, you do not have to do anything. I’ll bring you your meal shortly. I’m afraid we’re a bit short on beds, so I hope the couch is all right. Dr McCoy will be back in the morning to assess your condition and - ”

“Kurt,” Rogue said, suddenly remembering her skinny blue saviour. “Where’s Kurt?”

“Asleep in my study,” Scott said.

Rogue exhaled, realising she’d been holding her breath. The girls lingered in the doorway.

“He will be all right too. He just - needs rest. And food. You both do. Doctor’s orders too, I might add.”

Rogue nodded. “Ah - Ah think Emma saved our lives.”

Scott attempted a smile. “Yes. I do believe that that was her plan.”

“How do we get them back?” Rogue asked, panic suddenly rising through her. “Remy, my - my man. He’s with her. And the others. They saved us in Lyon, and - ”

“Did you find Warren?” Scott asked.

Rogue nodded.

“Good,” said Scott. “And as for getting everyone home, I’m working on it. And I have a feeling that Emma is too.”

…

“Kitty?” Rachel whispered in the dark. She rolled over and could just make out the outline of Kitty’s body in the bed across the room.

Kitty sniffed.

“Have you got a runny nose or are you crying?” Rachel asked, knowing she could easily check Kitty’s mind, but if she was upset Rachel would rather not pry.

Kitty sniffed again. “Sorry,” she sobbed into her pillow. “I - I didn’t mean…”

Rachel climbed out of bed and tip-toed across the room. She sat down beside Kitty. “What’s wrong?”

“I - I’m…”

“Don’t say you’re all right. Are you sick?” Rachel asked, though she knew Kitty wasn’t unwell.

Kitty shook her head. “I - I just thought… I always thought…”

Rachel rubbed Kitty on the back, but even through the blankets, the touch was enough for Rachel to feel Kitty’s loss and pain. Rachel swallowed back tears and stood up. “I’d best get dad,” she said, deciding this was best left to Scott to deal with. That’s why people had kids, right? Because they knew what to do? Scott always knew what to do. Rachel pulled on her slippers and hurried out to find him.

Light was shining from under the door of Scott and Emma’s room, and Rachel knocked. “Dad?”

“Shouldn’t you be off to sleep? You’ve got school in the morning,” Scott said, lying in bed and looking up from his book as Rachel opened the door. “Rachel - what’s wrong? Are you going to be sick?”

Rachel shook her head and went and stood by Scott’s side, the way she had when she was a child and was frightened by a nightmare. “Kitty - Kitty’s upset.”

“Oh,” Scott said, closing the book.

“Can you help?”

“Do you know what the matter is?” Scott asked, slipping out of bed.

“I - I felt it. I didn’t read her mind on purpose - she was projecting.”

“What’s the matter?” Scott asked calmly, grabbing his dressing gown.

“She - she’s sad about her family…” Rachel found Kitty’s exact thoughts too sad to say out-loud.

Scott paused. “Come here,” he said, and held out his hands. Rachel rushed in and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Scott hugged her and kissed the top of her head. “It will be all right,” he said, “Wait here.”

Scott let go of Rachel and headed down the hallway to the girls’ bedroom. Rachel slipped into Scott’s bed. It was warm and soft and smelt like his aftershave and felt like the safest place in the world.

“Kitty?” Scott asked, as he tapped on the door. He heard Kitty sobbing, and felt around for the switch for the bedside lamp. The room glowed in the soft golden lamplight. Scott sat down on Kitty’s bed, where Rachel had sat minutes before. He rubbed Kitty on the back. “Come on, sit up.”

Kitty sniffed, rolled over, and awkwardly sat up. She wiped her eye on the sheet. Scott put an arm around her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him. “I - I always thought I’d go home. But - now…” Kitty swallowed. “I kind of knew it was happening, but - but what Kurt and - and Rogue said… I - there’s nowhere to go home to, is there?”

Kurt had woken when the older children had been getting ready for bed. They’d had a brief conference in the kitchen, and Scott had been grateful that the twins were already tucked up in bed. He’d find a way to explain to them what had happened to Kurt. The recount Kurt had given had been brief and skimmed over a lot of the horrors. Scott guessed that Kurt just didn’t have the language to explain a lot of what had happened, and he had been too wrapped up in Kurt’s recount to realise at the time the impact is was having on Kitty.

Scott held Kitty tighter. “We don’t know that,” he lied. Scott was surprised to feel anger surge through him. How dare this happen to Kitty? How dare Kurt be kept the way he had been, or Rogue put in such a situation?

“They’re all dead though, aren’t they?” Kitty sobbed, “My whole family. My whole town. Everyone I knew…”

He and Emma had discussed the likeliness that Kitty’s family was gone; that however the war ended, Kitty was going to lose.

“And I - ” Kitty sobbed, “I don’t - I need a…”

“You have a family right here,” Scott said, “We’re not your birth family, and we will never replace them. We never want to. But you will never be alone, and you will never be abandoned. You are so loved, Kitty. And wanted. That might not mean much tonight, but I need you to know that’s true.”

“It really hurts.”

Kitty cried into Scott’s dressing gown for a little while longer, and Scott didn’t try to stop her. He just held her and waited until she lifted her head, and looked up at the door. Rachel stood leaning against the doorframe.

“Kitty psi-called me to come back,” Rachel said.

Kitty sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Rachel grabbed a handkerchief out of the draw and handed it to Kitty, then sat down on the bed beside Scott.

“I know I’d be dead if I hadn’t come here,” Kitty mumbled, and blinked back tears.

Rachel leant into Scott. Neither bothered to rebuke Kitty’s claim.

“You’re allowed to mourn,” Scott said. “I - I’m not exactly well versed in Jewish methods of mourning, so if there’s anything in particular you need to do…”

Kitty shrugged. “I only went to a couple of funerals before I - I came here. So - I don’t know. Just… umm… thank-you, because…” Kitty said, unable to face Scott or Rachel.

“Kitty,” Scott said, rubbing Kitty on the back. “You don’t have to thank us. You don’t owe us anything. That’s how parenting works. You give everything, then give a little more. And if you have anything left, you give that too. Now, should I give you both a mug of the emergency hot chocolate and we’ll raise a toast?” Scott suggested.

“Do we have enough milk?” Rachel asked ever practical, while Kitty wiped her tears and nodded.

“Half-milk, half-water,” Scott said, standing up, Rachel by his side like a magnet. “We have to make some compromises. Come on, girls. We’ll let the others sleep.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Why would Miss Frost allow herself to be betrayed?” Monet asked, closing the door to Miss Frost’s office with more force than was strictly necessary.

Jubilee jumped involuntarily. “You’re allowed to knock,” she said, sitting up straight. She’s spent the past few days looking busy as best she could. Since her interview with MI6, no one had bothered her or asked her anything, and she was out of actual work to do. She’d been left all alone in Miss Frost’s office. No telegrams came, no orders, no visitors. Until now.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” Jubilee asked.

“Do not patronise me. Why would she do that?” Monet demanded.

Jubilee sighed; she’d been asking herself the same question. Miss Frost had had all the evidence to have Shaw arrested before she left, so why wait until afterwards? Why give him time to tip off the Gestapo? “I don’t know…” Jubilee said, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

“It is your job!” Monet cried. “Are you not a spy?”

“I’m a secretary!” Jubilee said, springing to her feet. Monet was someone who was clearly used to getting what she wanted when she wanted it, and if the girl was going to be showing up at Baker Street, well that was one things, but demanding information was quite another. “I send telegrams and write minutes and type memos. And I just happen to be able to make ‘fireworks’, which is a great power when you need a distraction, but otherwise I don’t know what to do with it. I’m not - I’m not anything special, all right? I don’t know why Miss Frost went on this suicide mission to save Angel. I don’t - ” Jubilee stopped as she saw Monet’s shoulders drop.

“I couldn’t save him too. I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Pretty sure you’ve been told that.” Jubilee sighed. “All right, let’s try. If I was Miss Frost, why would I leave my comfy office and nerdy-but-kinda-cute husband and presumably nice house and relatively safe country and literal handful of children to jump out of a plane into occupied territory just to save one man?”

“Honour?” Monet suggested.

Jubilee sat back down and shrugged. “For Mr Summers maybe. But not Miss Frost. I don’t think she cares much about that sort of thing. I think normal people do things for love or money, but Miss Frost isn’t really normal…” Jubilee looked and Monet, who leaned against one of the filing cabinets and folded her arms. “What if you were Miss Frost? Why would you go?”

“I have met her once. I hardly know her.”

“M, please play along.”

Monet rolled her eyes. “If I could, I would kill as many Nazis as I could, to avenge my family.”

“Miss Frost doesn’t need to… ooh…” Jubilee said, her eyes widening. She felt a shiver go down her back.

“What?”

“Avenge her family…”

“Miss Frost has family in France?”

“No,” Jubilee said. “But one of her daughters was adopted as part of the Kindertransport.”

“The what?” Monet asked.

“A few thousand Jewish kids were brought to Britain from Germany and Austria before the war. Miss Frost adopted one of them who’s also got - powers. Like us, sort of.”

“She is avenging her adopted daughter’s family?”

“I guess?”

“Does that fit her character?” Monet asked.

Jubilee chewed on her lip, and nodded. “If anyone hurt her family, hurt her kids, then yes. Yes, I think you’d rather cross hell than cross Miss Frost if you’d wronged her family.”

…

Remy and Rogue walked hand-in-hand along the beach, never getting any closer to the town up ahead, nor further away from the one behind them, and the sun never fully setting. The breeze was warm, and the gentle waves lapped at the pebbled shore. Rogue wore sandals and a sleeveless green sundress which showed off the curves of her shoulders, and every of often the breeze would blow the skirt about. Her hair was salty and looked as though it hadn’t been brushed for days, but an afternoon spend swimming always left her looking like that.

Remy smiled. They were talking about nothing in particular. Rogue laughed and pushed him. He chased her, but she was faster. They stopped, and Remy caught his breath. He picked up a stone from the shore, charged it, and skimmed it across the waves. On the sixth bounce, it exploded into pink sparks. Rogue took his face in her hand, kissed him gently on the lips, then picked up the largest stone she could find, and hurled it into the sky. It exploded into a shower of pink fireworks.

“That is a waste of good powers!” Remy laughed, finding another stone.

“Y’all know Ah can’t skip stones.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“You’ve tried.”

“Oui, and you always insist on hurling them into the sky instead.”

Rogue laughed, and picked up another stone.

Emma pulled herself back to the real world. Here it was dark and cold. She looked at the sleeping figures around her. They’d been fortunate with the trains, catching an early train from Nancy to Reims, and an afternoon train from Reims to Laon. In the morning they hoped to catch the train to get to Amiens. Keep heading west. They’d found a small hotel, and telepathically disguising Logan, Remy and Warren, Elizabeth and Emma had booked a room. There were only two small beds; Warren and Elizabeth squeezed into one, Logan and Remy on the other. Emma sat in an old, threadbare armchair. There would have been a view of the Cathedral from the window in their room if it hadn’t been boarded up. She was certain of a trap - somewhere they would meet Marius St Croix and his team. It was only a matter of time.

Tonight though, Emma was letting everyone dream. They’d all be exactly where they wanted to be. Emma wrapped her arms around herself and tried to relax.

Above the flush, green forest the sun was shining and the sky was blue.

“Dad! Dad! Which way?”

“Left!” Logan called, “Other left, Jimmy.”

“Haha, Jimmy! You’ll get lost.”

“Let’s run!”

“Wait, Laura!”

“Run! Run!”

Logan chuckled to himself. A small part of him wished he was out hunting alone, but here he was, tramping through the forest with his four children in tow, any creature within miles of the track long since having ran away. He could smell deer, caribou, and a family of bears. Have to keep an eye out for the bears, but surely they’d be frightened by the noise of the children. Sarah would be enjoying the few hours of peace, having the house to herself, without the little mites under foot.

“You don’t want to run after the others?” Logan said, looking down at Gabby who was holding his hand.

“No, I like just walking with you. Laura and the boys are too fast. They just run off on me.”

“Smart kid,” Logan said.

“And I like talking to you,” Gabby said, swinging his hand.

“I like talking to you too,” Logan smiled. Gabby skipped to keep up, as Logan walked on. “Laura! Claws away! No threatening your brothers. Boys, don’t be annoying. You’re clearly not worn out enough. Head up the hill. Move, come on.”

Emma opened her eyes. Logan hadn’t seen his children for over two years. The oldest boy was almost old enough to enlist. His children were across the Atlantic, living in the middle of goodness-knows-where, Canada. The wilderness there was a whole other level compared to Britain. Emma wondered if her children would like it there. Her children, who thought Richmond Park was the great unknown.

The band was phenomenal, the wine superb, the food extraordinary. The club was smokey and opulent, and Elizabeth shined, dripping with jewels. Warren got up and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. The building spun, the dancers spun around, the music soared, and Warren beamed from ear to ear.

“We spoke about getting married during the cab ride home.”

Emma opened her eyes, and saw that Elizabeth was awake.

“We were eternal, and decided that only the end of the world would force us to wed. Just over a year later, we were standing in front of an altar. And you shouldn’t be looking, you know.”

Emma shrugged. “I’m giving them the dreams.”

“It’s still not right.”

“I didn’t look inside your head.”

“I know,” Betsy said, “I would have felt you there.”

“I know. But you were in Warren’s.”

“I’m his wife. I was making sure he wasn’t having nightmares.” Elizabeth sat up, and stroked Warren’s hair.

“Ask,” Emma sighed, needing to talk.

“Ask what?”

Emma tipped her head. “Don’t worry, the boys are all fast asleep.”

Betsy sighed. “Why are we here? Really? Why are you here? You don’t come on a rescue-and-return mission.”

“No,” Emma said.

“So?”

Emma pulled her knees up to her chest. “Reconnaissance.” It was easy to give the headline version of the truth.

“Really? You?”

“I volunteered.”

“You did all this for - reconnaissance?”

“There’s been rumours for years,” Emma said, feeling anger rise inside her. “Stories. Now that we know it’s all true, carpet-bomb the whole damned country. Burn the lot.”

“I think that’s a bit - extreme…” Betsy said.

“I don’t know if it’s enough,” Emma muttered. “There were kids there…”

“I know.”

“Children…”

“I know, Emma. I could feel them too. I - oh…” Elizabeth said, her stomach sinking.

“Yes, ‘oh’,” Emma said, and swallowed back her emotion. “That would have been Katherine. I - I’ve seen papers. Her town… they’re all gone. They were taken early. Can you imagine? Katherine would have been there, not willing to escape and leave her family, standing in the chamber as everyone dropped dead around her. The door would have opened, and the guards would have seen her still standing there. They’d have opened fire, and the bullets would have gone straight through her. A ghost-child. So burn the lot I say, because they would burn every single one of us without blinking.”

Betsy twirled a stand of Warren’s hair around her finger. “Have you slept since we’ve been over here?”

Emma shrugged.

“Would you like to?”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me know. I - I can put you somewhere safe. Or let you sleep without dreaming at all.”

“No,” Emma said, “I need this to keep fighting.”

“You can’t keep fighting if you’re dead.”

“I’m fine,” Emma said, sliding into diamond-form. “I’ll be just fine.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

“All right everyone,” Scott called from the front door, “Be good. Learn something. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Bye dad!”

“Bye daddy!”

“Yep, see you, dad.”

“Bye Scott.”

“Goodbye daddy.”

The children shouted their farewells from throughout the house.

“Are you nearly ready?” Rachel asked Kitty, as she very roughly brushed her hair.

“Just one moment,” Kitty said, grabbing a book off the desk, “I just - I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Kitty left the bedroom and headed downstairs to find Nathan more or less emptying the cupboard under the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Kitty asked.

“Looking for my football boots. We have practice today.”

“Oh. Have you checked your bedroom?”

“No,” Nathan said, “But I don’t… actually, good thinking, Kitty,” he said, and raced up the stairs, two at a time.

Kitty knocked on the door to the study. “Kurt? Are you awake? Can I come in?” She spoke in German, though speaking in her native tongue almost felt strange after these past few years. At school they learnt French and Latin, and Kitty had few opportunities to practice speaking German.

Kurt opened the door. “Du sprichst Deutsch?” he smiled.

“Ja,” Kitty said, trying not to stare too much as she still found Kurt’s blue exterior a little troubling. He was wearing cream pyjamas and a maroon knitted jumped. Kitty continued in German, “I, umm, I guess you guessed I’m not actually one of the Summers children. I…”

“Warren told me that Scott and Emma had adopted a child.”

Kitty nodded. “I was part of the Kindertransport.”

“I heard about that,” Kurt said, “It has saved many lives.”

“You did too,” Kitty said. Last night over dinner Kurt had filled them in on a few more details of his life, despite his challenges with the language, he made it all sound like one epic adventure with only a little hiccup that landed him in the camp.

“Ah, that was nothing,” Kurt said.

“It was more than a thousand people, all by yourself. That’s not nothing.”

“I became careless and was caught. I - ”

“Here,” Kitty said, holding out the book she’d brought down. “I need to go to school now, but, umm, I don’t need this anymore. You might find it helpful. See you after school.”

Kurt took the book. “Danke, Kitty.”

Kitty nodded awkwardly and backed out of the room. It was too early to feel sad. She had to go to school. She wished she could go back upstairs and close the bedroom door and talk to Rachel, but she could hear the Summers siblings clumping down the stairs.

“Is it always this noisy in the morning?” Rogue asked, poking her head out from the kitchen.

“No,” Kitty said, pulling on her coat, “It’s usually worse.”

Kurt sat down on the camp bed made up for him in Scott’s study. Scott had apologised profusely about the lack of space, but having an actual bed, however small, plus pillow and bundle of blankets was a luxury compared to his living conditions of the recent past. There was food in the kitchen, clean running water in the taps, a flushing toilet in the bathroom. Doctor McCoy was due to visit him and Rogue again later that morning. Kurt looked at the spine of the book, where in gold letters it was printed _“Wie man Englisch spricht”._ He opened the book, and saw a handwritten note on the first page.

_Dear Katherine,_

_Welcome to England. We are very glad to have you with us, and hope you enjoy your stay._

_Love Emma, Scott, Rachel, Nathan, Sophie and Celeste Summers_

_March, 1939_

…

//Emma?//

//I know.// Emma responded, before Elizabeth could even ask.

//Should we ask someone?// Elizabeth asked, skipping to what would have been her second question and ignoring the fact that Emma was likely skimming everyone’s thoughts.

//Why? It would only look suspicious.//

//We have to tell the others.//

//Not yet. Let’s get to Arras and make sure.//

Elizabeth nodded and looked back out the window. They’d caught the morning train from Laon to Amiens, and had been able to connect onto a train to Arras. However, from the passing thoughts of station staff and other passengers, trains were not currently running any further north or west. Betsy could feel a trap closing in on them.

The team sat in a compartment of the fairly empty train travelling to Arras. Soon their luck would run out. It had to. Emma sat opposite her, and Elizabeth prayed that she had one more trick up her sleeve.

Betsy looked out the window across the fields racing by. Thirty years ago, these fields had been a wasteland of mud and trenches and barbed wire. A veritable hell on earth. And but a few days prior, the team had been amongst man’s latest incarnation of hell.

Elizabeth swallowed. “My father was killed around here somewhere.” Lieutenant-Colonel Sir James Braddock been piloting a Bristol 22 Fighter Plane, and never landed. There was no official grave. Elizabeth imagined that somewhere out amongst these fields was a small cemetery with headstone reading “An Unknown British Officer” below which her father lay.

Warren wrapped his arm around her and Elizabeth allowed herself to lean into him. Logan puffed at one of the few cigarettes he had left. Remy swallowed and seemed to sink even further into the seat. He had hardly a handful of words to Emma since Rogue had left.

Emma didn’t move at all.

…

While walking home from school, Rachel and Kitty had decided that that evening once everyone had gone to bed, they would sneak down and speak to Rogue. It was almost impossible to speak to her alone the rest of the time, and Rachel had picked up on Rogue’s feelings of loneliness and of being overwhelmed.

Once the girls heard Scott close his bedroom door and go to bed, they donned their dressing gowns and slippers, and grabbed a half-jar of sweets. Christopher Summers, a captain in the merchant navy, may have been generally unreliable, but always sent a hamper full of goodies to his respective child or grandchild for their birthday and at Christmastime. With Christmas just around the corner, the girls decided to share the last of their lemon sherbets with Rogue.

“Rogue,” Kitty whispered, knocking on the drawing room door. “Are you awake?”

Rogue opened the door, and in the dark could just make out the figures of the two girls. “What’s going on?”

“We just want to talk to you,” Rachel said, “If that’s all right.”

“We brought lemon sherbets,” Kitty said, rattling the jar.

“Y’all better come sit down, then,” Rogue said.

“Oh, it’s lovely and warm in here,” Kitty said, sitting down on the couch. There a few embers still smouldering alway in hearth. “Oh, sorry, I’m sitting on your bed,” she said to Rogue.

Rogue chuckled. “It’s all right. So, what did you girls want to know?”

“We just want to talk,” Rachel said, taking the jar from Kitty and handing out the sweets. “Like, what exactly are your powers? When did they manifest and how do you control them? And, how did you loose them, if you don’t mind us asking?”

“Or if we’re even allowed to ask, or is it all classified?”

“Ah’ll tell you what Ah can,” Rogue said, “But there are gunna be chunks missing. Ah guess y’all know that Emma’s work is pretty good secretive.” Rogue gave the girls a very sanitised version of the mission, and of her past and powers. It felt good to talk, even if it was to a couple of school girls. They soon fell into easy conversation, and Rogue tried to think of the last time she’d opened up with anyone other than Remy.

ooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOO

The girls jumped at the sudden siren.

“What the blazes…?”

“Air raid! Come on!” Rachel said, jumping to her feet. “Rogue, have you got a dressing gown?”

“Mah suitcase hasn’t been delivered yet,” Rogue said.

“But Mrs Jones returned the clothes you wore to France today,” Kitty said. Scott had sent Rogue’s clothing to be washed and mended. “Get your coat, we have to move.”

“But what - ”

“It means the Luftwaffe are coming. Come on!”

ooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOO

‘GET UP!” Scott shouted. “Come on, QUICK!”

No lights were turned on, no one argued, and no one mucked about.

“DAD, KITTY AND I ARE DOWNSTAIRS WITH ROGUE,” Rachel shouted.

“GOOD, GO,” Scott called in reply.

“Come on,” Rachel said, grabbing Rogue with one hand and Kitty with the other.

ooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOO

“I’m here, dad,” Nathan said to Scott, “I’ve got the girls.” He handed one of the twins over to Scott, and the other climbed up onto his back.

“I know, darling,” Scott said.

“What about Kurt?” Nathan asked.

“Just go to the shelter,” Scott said, “The older girls are ahead of you.”

“I know, I can hear their thoughts. They’re with Rogue.”

“Yes. I’ll get Kurt.”

ooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOO

A few minutes later, the eight occupants of the Summers household were crammed into the Anderson shelter in the back garden, the air-raid sirens still blaring nearby.

“Are they coming close tonight?” Nathan asked as Scott secured the door.

“We’ll be safe,” Scott said. Only now did he turn on a torch. “Into position, everyone.” In the shelter was a single bunk-bed with the legs removed, the twins crawling into the bottom bunk which was more or less just a mattress on the ground, and Kitty and Rachel squeezed into the top bunk. Nathan sat down beside Scott on the old couch against the other wall, with Rogue and Kurt squeezing in too. Scott handed out blankets and turned off the torch.

“Y’all done this before, Ah can tell,” Rogue said, her heart pounding.

“A couple of years back we were in here pretty much every single night,” Rachel said. “It’s not quite so bad now.”

“Just we’re all bigger so it’s more of a squeeze,” Kitty said.

“And y’all safe in here?”

“Safe as anywhere,” Nathan said.

“Yes,” said Scott. “Also we have - other measures.”

“If we get a direct hit, Nathan and I can create telekinetic bubbles to protect the shelter from collapsing on top of us,” Rachel explained, “Also Kitty can phase this whole bed, including me and the twins.”

“We’ve practised,” Celeste said.

“Ah bet y’all have,” Rogue said.

“Betsy Braddock believes that Nathan and I could use our TK to disable the exploding mechanism on a bomb if it was close enough,” Rachel said.

“And slow the speed,” Nathan added.

“But it’s kind of hard to practice, especially without Betsy to guide us.”

“That’s Lady Elizabeth to you two,” Scott said. “And it’s extremely dangerous.”

“I think we could do it,” Nathan said.

“Wasn’t Lady Elizabeth at St Paul’s the night that big bomb fell on the roof? But it bounced off, created one almighty crater in the road, but it didn’t explode.”

“Divine intervention?” Kurt suggested.

“It was definitely Betsy, she just can’t say. It’s probably classified or something. Right, dad?” Rachel asked.

“Me and Rachel could definitely save more buildings and people and things,” Nathan said.

“You can’t save everyone and everything,” Scott said, closing his eyes and silently praying for Emma. “It isn’t possible. Lady Elizabeth knows that. You know that.”

“But we can help,” Rachel grumbled.

“Try to get some sleep,” Scott said, ending the conversation, as the sirens continued on, only partially masking the sound of the planes dog-fighting above their heads.


	21. Chapter 21

//Anne. Don’t respond until I tell you to. Write this down.//

Rachel almost fell out of her chair. She looked around the classroom as she grabbed a pencil. Miss Guthrie was still lecturing, successfully making her literature class hate any book she mentioned. Or perhaps that was just the views of teenage girls, most of whom looked close to sleep.

//Tell Christopher we’ll meet at the Dorchester, normal time, next Friday. Let him know as soon as possible. Got it?//

//Got it.//

//Good. The guests are well?//

//Yes. Wait - //

//Good.//

Rachel looked at the paper in front of her. “Emma?” It was stupid speaking, as Rachel could feel that the psychic connection was gone, but how had Emma done it? How had she reached out?

“Did you have a comment, Miss Summers?”

Rachel looked up at Miss Guthrie, who didn’t look as though she wanted to be in class either.

“No - I, ah, I feel very faint, miss. I think I’m going to - I don’t feel well.”

“Right. You look as white as a sheet. Miss Pryde, escort Miss Summers to the nurse’s room, will you. I don’t want her passing out in the hallway.”

Rachel stuffed the piece of paper into her pocket, and Kitty took her by the arm, all eyes on them as Kitty carefully lead Rachel out of the classroom. Alone in the hallway, Rachel pulled the paper out.

“We need to get help.”

“I know, I’m taking you to the nurse.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Rachel said, shoving the paper in Kitty’s hand.

“What is this?”

“I just got a telepathic message from Emma. How she got around the blocks I have no idea. I’m sure she’s still across the Channel, and, well… She called me Anne, which is my middle name, and said this has to go to Christopher, which is Nathan’s middle name, but - ”

“It’s also your dad’s,” said Kitty. “It’s a code. This message, it’s a code.”

“Emma doesn’t even like the Dorchester. Her favourite is Claridge’s.”

“I don’t think this is about hotels,” Kitty said, reading the note.

“We need to give it to dad. Right now. It’s urgent. I can’t psi-call him because of the blocks in his office. When’s the next train?” Rachel asked, knowing that Kitty had the timetable memorised.

“We won’t make the two-twenty-five, then there’s the two-forty, but it’s stopping all stations. We need to get there quicker.”

“We don’t have the money for a cab.”

“Come on!” Kitty said, running down the hallway, Rachel at her heals. They ran up stairs, and stopped outside another classroom. “Wait there,” Kitty said, knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

“Excuse me, Professor,” Kitty said, the most innocent expression on her face. “Deputy-headmistress has asked to see Miss Rasputin, please.”

“Miss Rasputin,” Professor Parker said, pushing his spectacles up his nose, “With Miss Pryde, please.”

Waiting in the hallway, Rachel could feel the eyes of the class watching Illyana move through the tables, all wondering what she had done to be called to the deputy-headmistress’s office, but was beginning to understand Kitty’s plan.

“Kitty, what does - oh, hello Rachel.”

“Hello Illyana,” Rachel said.

“Illyana, we need to go to London. Right now,” Kitty said.

“Westminster,” Rachel specified, knowing just how big London was and how likely Illyana was to put them in the middle of the City, miles from where Scott worked.

“Do we have permission?” Illyana asked.

“Kind of?” Kitty said.

“Oh. Yes, then.”

“Hats and coats first!” Kitty said, again taking off with a run. “We can’t turn up in the capital in tunics and shirt-sleeves.”

The girls ran down to the locker room to collect their belongings.

“London.” Illyana said, pulling her sword out of what seemed like no where.

“Westminster,” Kitty said, buttoning up her coat.

“Not in the Abbey, though,” Rachel added, imagining the horror of materialising there.

Illyana waved her sword, and before they could blink, the school had disappeared, and the girls were standing in the middle of Westminster Square, the Abbey behind them, the Houses of Parliament to their right, and Whitehall straight ahead.

“Come on,” said Rachel, grabbing her gloves out of her coat pocket and pulling them on.

“We look like school girls,” Illyana observed, putting her sword inside her coat. Neither Kitty nor Rachel bothered to ask how it fitted or where exactly it went.

“We are school girls,” Kitty said.

“Everyone is looking at us. There are a lot of men here. Does the King live near here?”

“Sort of,” Rachel said. “Just up there a bit.”

“Can we see him?”

“No.”

“Are we going to see Mr Churchill? I like him on the wireless.”

“We’re going to my father,” Rachel said.

“Oh. Will you not see him tonight?” Illyana asked. Rachel wished she’d just stop talking.

“Yes,” Rachel said, “But we need to see him now. Tonight might be too late.”

“We’re on a secret mission,” Kitty said.

“For the war?” Illyana asked.

“Yes.”

“Do we get to save the day? That is what happens in stories.”

“Perhaps,” said Kitty. “That would be rather grand.”

A couple of minutes later, and they stood out the front of the War Office.

“Now what?” Illyana asked.

“Hold my hands,” Kitty said. Rachel and Illyana each took a hand. “Rach, you might want to - make us kind of invisible or whatever it is you do.”

“Understood,” Rachel said, and removed the three girls from the thoughts of those in the street around them.

“This might feel a bit odd,” Kitty said, as they walked straight at - and through - the solid closed doors. Inside was a large foyer, and big staircase.

“Where is Mr Summers?” Illyana asked.

“His office is upstairs,” Rachel said, “Come on.”

As they walked towards the stairs, Rachel could feel people watching them, her telepathy no longer working inside the building.

“Look like we’re supposed to be here.”

“We’re not. We look like school girls, who should be at school.”

“Yes, thank-you, Illyana,” Rachel said, “It’s so annoying that the building’s protected. I get why Emma works up in Marylebone.”

“So what do we do?” Kitty asked.

“Walk faster.”

The girls started up the stairs, when someone called after them. “Hullo! What are you girls doing in here? Hey! You girls!”

“Run!” Kitty said, and they broke into a run, Rachel taking the lead towards Scott’s office as fast as she could.

“Get back here! Someone catch those girls.”

“Dad!” Rachel called, a name to which three-quarters of the men seemed to answer to, turning as they heard the name. “Dad!”

Rachel could hear heavy footsteps behind them, and wished they’d had more time to come up with a better plan than just walk straight into the War Office. She took a sharp left into the corridor which lead to Scott’s office. “Dad!”

The door opened and Rachel ran right into him.

“Rachel?”

“Dad!”

“Katherine. Illyana?”

“Good afternoon, Mr Summers.”

“Mr Summers, sir, these girls here, sir, they, they - ”

“They’re my daughters,” Scott said.

“All of ‘em, sir?”

“Well,” Scott said, quite confused and oddly embarrassed. “Not the blonde one. And Katherine’s - yes. Yes, they’re mine.”

“They broke into a secure government building, sir. They - ”

“I got a message from Emma,” Rachel said.

“Very good. Thank-you for your diligence, Mr Toynbee,” Scott said, ushering the girls inside his office, and closing the door to Mr Toynbee.

“From Emma?” Scott asked.

“Yes. A psi-message. She reached out,” Rachel said.

“Are you all right?” Scott asked.

Rachel nodded.

“Is Emma?”

“Here,” Kitty said, pulling the piece of paper out of her pocket.

“It’s a code,” Scott said, reading the message. “Emma would never go to the Dorchester.”

“She prefers Claridge’s,” Kitty said.

“Exactly.”

“Do you know what it means?” Kitty asked.

“Hang on,” Scott said, sitting down at his desk, and opening his second draw and rummaging through the papers there. “Don’t think that you’re not in trouble for skipping school. You are. Lots of trouble. All the trouble. Very naughty. But I’m very proud and you’ve done the right thing and Emma would be very proud and, ah. Here it is.” Scott unfolded the piece of paper and compared the two.

“‘Next Friday’ means tomorrow morning,” Kitty said, reading upside down.

“Oh dear,” Scott breathed.

“What?” Rachel asked.

Scott folded up the paper before Kitty could work out the rest. “Girls, I - you need to go back to school. Come on.” Scott stood up and headed for the door.

“Illyana teleported us here. We’ve only missed half a class,” Rachel said, hoping that Scott wouldn’t send them back.

Scott looked at them. “Can you teleport out of here, then?”

“Yes, Mr Summers, sir,” Illyana said, opening her coat and pulling out her sword.

“Huh,” Scott said, a small smile on his lips having not seen Illyana’s sword before. “I wondered how you three were always going off on adventures. Always be surprising, girls. Miss Rasputin, thank-you for assisting today.”

“It is more fun than maths. Later we will meet the King.”

Scott raised an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” Kitty said. “Lost in translation.”

Scott nodded. “Back to school.”

“What’s happening?” Rachel asked, noticing an atmospheric change in the room.

Scott kissed Kitty on the head, then Rachel. “I’ll call later.”

“Dad!”

“Ray, please. Please go back to school.”

“Is Emma in trouble?”

“Rachel…”

“Because we can help, I can - ”

“Rachel, you already have. More than you know. Please, please trust me,” Scott said, looking between Rachel and Kitty.

Rachel sighed and nodded. Scott stepped back as Illyana waved her sword, and a moment later, they were standing back locker room. No one spoke for a few moments.

“I guess I better go back to class,” Illyana said, taking off her coat, and headed back up the stairs.

“Let’s go and see Nurse Reyes,” Kitty said, “Just so our alibi checks out.”

Rachel nodded, and followed Kitty down the hallway, a knot forming in her stomach. “He’s going to save Emma and the others.”

“I know,” Kitty said. She slowed down until Rachel walked beside her, then put her arm around Rachel’s shoulder, “And he can only do so because of us.”

“I just don’t want my family hurt.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair. We _could_ help.”

“I know,” Kitty said, “Believe me, Rachel, I want to help too, but it’s out of our hands.”

“We just have to hope the grown-ups can pull it off.”

Kitty chuckled, “Something like that. But they’d be lost without us.”


	22. Chapter 22

On the outskirts of Saint-Omer, the team came across an abandoned cottage.

“How much further?” Emma asked, doing a quick psi-scan of the area.

“Twenty-something miles,” Logan replied. “Have to check the map.”

“All right,” Emma said, “We’ll take a break. Half an hour. Have something to eat.”

The sun was setting, and the night was getting cold fast, and all were glad to step inside out of the wind. There was a larger room at the front of the cottage, with a wooden table and a few stools. Logan, Remy, Elizabeth and Warren set about making themselves at home, arranging their torches for the best amount of lighting, and pulling out what remained of their rations to share. Emma went into one of the two smaller rooms at the back and closed the door.

“Is she - ?”

“Let her be,” Elizabeth said, making a note to ensure there was enough rations left for Emma.

Elizabeth and the boys were glad just to sit and rest their feet for a while. Their remaining rations, one tin of beef, one tin of mystery cabbage-something remaining from their haul from the German truck, a little hard cheese and a little chocolate, afforded a measly supper, but having skipped lunch, they enjoyed it all the same.

“All right gentlemen,” Elizabeth said, standing up, “Time to wash up and head - ” Elizabeth grabbed the table as she felt a sudden surge of psychic energy.

“Woah, Betsy…” Warren said, grabbing her arm.

“Bets? You right?”

“Elizabeth?”

“Emma…” Elizabeth breathed. As soon as it had come on, the psychic energy disappeared. “Stay there,” Elizabeth ordered, as she grabbed her torch and hurried into the room where Emma had secluded herself. “What was that?” she ordered as she flung open the door.

Emma sat on the side of a bed-frame, doubled over, her head in her hands.

“Emma?” Elizabeth asked as she closed the door and knelt down in front of Emma, “What did you just do?”

Emma swallowed and raised her head a little. She was drenched with sweat and looked deathly pale, even in the golden torchlight. “They’re coming…” she murmured.

“What did you do?” Elizabeth asked, placing her torch in a nook in the wall, and gently lowering Emma to the floor, afraid she would otherwise collapse.

“Morning, Calais…”

“Who?”

“And they made it. Tell Remy… it worked.”

“Tell Remy yourself,” Elizabeth snapped, fighting back fear. “What’s going on? Because I will not be the only one who felt that. That - that was like a damned beacon, Emma. And we’re so close, we’re so - oh.”

Emma lay down on the floor, curling her knees up to her chest. “Why do you think I waited so long?” she whispered.

Elizabeth looked around the small room. It had been striped of all belongings, and the window was boarded up. “I could have helped.”

“You are.”

“No, I mean - just, rest. We - we have time. We have a few hours,” Elizabeth said, and positioned Emma’s coat better around her legs. There was nothing for a pillow. “You have one more trick. You always do. Your agendas have agendas. What’s going on?”

“Get to Calais by dawn…”

“We’re damn well taking you with us.”

“Oh darling,” Emma chuckled then coughed, “I have no intention of dying - or of staying in this… this wasteland - a moment longer than needs be…”

“How far behind us are they?” Elizabeth asked.

“A few hours,” Emma said. “We - nearly threw them off… thought we’d go via Paris. It’s - only good for - shopping, and we’ve - not enough - francs…”

Elizabeth chuckled despite herself. “How many?”

“A lot. The St Croix brother. Others.”

“We’re outnumbered?”

“Yes.”

“Bugger.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “Well, it will be nice to finally punch someone I guess. That bastard betrayed his own family. And Logan’s been itching to pop his claws. Oh, unless we’re going all ‘no killing’ again or something?”

“No, darling,” Emma said, “This lot - this time - have it coming.”

“Right then,” Elizabeth said, standing up and thinking out-loud. “So we have three willing and able to fight, and one not so able, and one totally invalid. That’s you, by the way. We have almost no weaponry, so it’ll have to be hand-to-hand. Anymore tricks, Emma? Anything else we should know? I mean, they’ll probably be bringing machine guns and hand grenades to a fist fight, so, anything else you’d like to share?”

“You were all chosen… for a reason,” Emma mumbled.

“Please don’t be cryptic.”

“And hope,” Emma said, “Is mostly just… fortuitous timing and - and planning and - very good skills…”

…

“This better be bloody good,” Commander Brand said, closing the door to Scott’s office behind her. “And if anyone stands on my dress, they get court marshalled.”

Scott’s small Whitehall office resembled a game of sardines. Commander Brand was wearing a long emerald green ballgown underneath her regulation coat, and a narrow band of diamonds and emeralds in her hair. Scott sat awkwardly behind his desk, Jubilee and Monet were trying to make themselves scarce in between a filing cabinet and bookshelf, and Scott’s brother Alex, in his Royal Naval Engineers uniform, leant against the other side of Scott’s desk.

“I’m forever grateful for this,” Scott said.

Brand folded her arms. “I’ll add it to the list,” she grumbled. “Right, what is it this time, and don’t bullshit me.”

“I never bullshit people,” Scott said.

“I know,” said Brand, “Which is why I don’t hate you as much as other people, but also what makes you so damned annoying. Well? Spit it out.”

“Should I know her?” Monet whispered to Jubilee, as Scott outlined his plan to the Commander.

“No,” Jubilee said, totally impressed with Brand as usual, “But I think you’d like to.”

“Yes,” Monet said. “I think I do.”

“Miss Lee?” the Commander said.

“Yes, ma’am?” Jubilee said, sheepishly stepping forward.

“I’ve got better places to be than chasing the postoffice, so I trust you can get these telegrams sent for me,” Brand said, folding up the piece of paper before holding it out to Jubilee.

“Certainly, ma’am,” Jubilee said, pocketing the paper. “Er - I’m guessing they’ll be encrypted, ma’am?”

“I’m guessing the sun will rise in the morning,” Brand said as way of reply.

“We owe you, Commander,” Scott said. “An awful lot.”

“Well, I’d like a CBE,” Brand said, “But I think ones work has to be a tiny bit less covert to get one of those. Either way, I’m off to dine with the Prime Minister, General Ismay, who’s just back from a little holiday abroad, and a few others who’ll pretend they know what they’re talking about, but generally haven’t a clue. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” everyone said as the Commander exited the office.

“Is it just me,” Alex said, exhaling loudly, “Or does she scare the crap out of people?”

“She scares the crap out of people,” Scott said, leaning back in his chair, finally able to breathe now that Brand was gone. “Miss Lee, I know you need to send those telegrams as soon as possible, but I need to give additional instructions first.”

…

“How long do we have to wait for?” Remy asked, twirling a playing card between his fingers. They had considered playing a game, but didn’t want to waste the torches, so sat in the dark instead.

“We have to leave at midnight at the latest,” Elizabeth said, wondering if that would allow them enough time, “So a few more hours.”

“Or less,” Logan said, standing up. He opened the door and poked his head out. “Bingo.”

“I can’t hear anything,” Warren said.

“I can smell the trucks,” Logan said. “The fuel.”

“I can’t risk psi-scanning,” Betsy said.

“Understood,” Logan said, closing the door. “I reckon there’s a dozen.”

“Men?”

“Trucks.”

“Shit.”

“Bets,” Warren said quietly, “I - I can’t…”

“Protect Emma,” Elizabeth said. She grabbed the map off the table, folded it up and handed it to Warren. “Wake her up. Make for Calais. There’ll be a boat waiting. We’ll catch up.”

“But - ”

“Four trucks each. How hard can it be, darling?”

Warren wrapped his arms around Elizabeth and kissed her tightly. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

“Or sooner,” Elizabeth said.

Warren let go of her and disappeared into the room where Emma was asleep.

“Well, then,” Elizabeth said, “No mercy and no prisoners.” They could all now hear the trucks rumbling towards them. Elizabeth clenched a fist, and her psi-sword lit up the room. “For King and Country.”

“For freedom.”

“For Rogue.”


	23. Chapter 23

****

Ororo’s stomach flipped at the sound of the late-night knock at the door. Any callers at this hour were surely bearers of bad news. She forced herself to breath before rising from the armchair and heading to the door.

“Good evening,” she said, opening the door a little, but not removing the chain.

Two young women stood outside. “Good evening. Is Miss Munroe in?”

“I am Miss Munroe,” Ororo said, getting a better look at the short, Oriental girl in a mustard yellow coat who looked fresh out of school, and a taller, darker girl behind.

“Oh, wonderful. Good. Means we got the right place. I’d be pretty embarrassed otherwise, and it’s late and we’re kind of in a hurry.” It was the Oriental girl who spoke.

“I’m sorry girls, but whatever it is you’re selling, I - ” Ororo went to close the door.

“Wait, we just - ”

“Scott Summers sent us,” the taller girl said, stepping closer to the door. Out of the shadows, Ororo could see that she was wearing a standard issue coat, yet she spoke with a thick French accent.

Ororo’s eyes widened with realisation.

“I probably should have led with that, actually. I’m Jubilee, by the way. This is M.”

“Call me Storm,” Ororo said, and unhooked the chain from the door. “And you had best come inside.”

…

“I can’t get to sleep,” Rachel said, staring at bedroom the ceiling.

“Have you even tried?” Kitty asked.

“No. Have you?”

“No,” Kitty admitted, “I can’t turn my brain off.”

“I don’t know if I’m excited or scared or both or something else,” Rachel said. “Is there a German compound word for that?”

Kitty chuckled. “I don’t think so. I didn’t realise how much German I’d forgotten until speaking with Kurt this week. I can still read it perfectly well, but speaking in German now feels so - foreign. Which is bizarre.”

“Do you miss it?” Rachel asked.

Kitty considered the question for a moment. She wasn’t going to cry tonight. It wasn’t fair on Rachel. It was better to make light of the situation. “Sometimes. When I first left, I thought it would just be for the summer… I guess I found a endless amount of Summers.”

It was Rachel’s turn to laugh. “That is so lame.”

“Don’t tease!” Kitty said.

“Sorry,” Rachel said, “But - ”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Kitty said, knowing Rachel had asked the question in earnestness. “But now I’m not sure I can imagine going back. Even if everything was the way it was before I left, I - I don’t know if I could. If I want to.”

“We will help you try and find your family,” Rachel said, rolling onto her side to look towards Kitty in the dark. “If you want. I know Emma would want to help. We all do.”

Kitty rolled to face Rachel. “Is it all right if I said I’m scared to look, because we mightn’t find anything? Besides, how can we look with the war still going on? We only knew this was happening for certain last week. And Emma’s not here…”

“Yet.” Rachel said, finishing Kitty’s sentence. “Emma’s not here yet. And the war’s not over yet. But dad’s bringing her home. Just you wait. And - and the war will end. It just has to. We can’t lose now.”

“You sound very sure,” Kitty said.

Rachel bit her lip. “Can I tell you something I shouldn’t know?”

“From eavesdropping on people’s thoughts?” Kitty asked.

“People project. Emma’s taught me how to block most of it out now, but the other year…”

“What did you hear?” Kitty asked, sitting up.

Rachel sat up too, though kept her blankets pulled up high to keep out the cold. “The other year, after Dunkirk, the Hun had a chance of invasion. They had to cross the Channel by the end of the summer, before the conditions changed. But they didn’t. The weather was never perfect. Nothing lined up. They didn’t do it. That winter we were cut off from the rest of the world, but invasion never came, and we didn’t give up. We didn’t surrender and we didn’t fall. And now, just about the world’s on our side, even the Soviets. We can’t lose now, we just - need to figure out a way to win.”

“Who projected all that?”

“Do you remember how sometimes, around that time, Lady Elizabeth and Warren, Miss Munroe, Dr McCoy, Uncle Alex, and a couple of times even Commander Brand would come to our house for dinner, and we’d all be sent to bed early, then all the adults would shut the door to the drawing room? They’d be in there for hours, no light but a couple of candles. Sometimes it would be completely silent, because Emma and Lady Elizabeth would have everyone psi-linked. I could feel that’s what they were doing, even if I couldn’t feel all their thoughts. Everyone at those dinners leaked thoughts like bursts pipes. It didn’t take long for Emma to realise I was picking them up, but it took a little longer for her to train me how to block them out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Kitty asked.

“Because Emma told me not to,” Rachel said, “I was more afraid of her then.”

“Afraid of Emma!” Kitty laughed.

“I was only about twelve! I’m not afraid of her now,” Rachel said, and sighed. “I just - I want them all to come home. I don’t like that dad’s not here, either.”

“Rogue and Kurt are our designated guardians for the evening,” Kitty said.

“I know,” Rachel replied, “But…”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Kitty said, lying back down. “I wish we could help.”

“We’re never going to stop wishing that, are we?” Rachel asked, also lying down.

“Not until we can,” Kitty said.

…

In theory, they could have had the fight wrapped up in minutes, but after half an hour of what had turned into guerrilla warfare, they were locked in a stalemate. Over a week of minimal rations, little sleep, and a lot of stress had Betsy, Logan and Remy fighting at their wit’s ends. They had so little left to give, and knew they had to reserve something to have any hope of making it to Calais by dawn. But unless they could stop Marius St Croix and his off-shoot band of state-sanctioned terrorists, they couldn’t guarantee their own safety, let alone that of their friends or any other mutant or Resistance member or ally who stood in St Croix’s way.

Elizabeth ducked behind an overturned truck, needing a moment to collect her thoughts and considered her options. Theoretically, they could carry on like this for hours. Buy Warren and Emma time. Let them get home. Hope for another rescue mission, though it was unlikely St Croix and Co would take them as prisoners, or keep them alive for long if they did. Betsy wouldn’t let her partners be taken alive at any rate. Not by this lot.

So, option A: fight on, buying Warren and Emma time, but as effectively sacrificing themselves.

Had the others come to this conclusion?

Remy had Rogue, and her being alive meant they had a chance at a life together. Logan had a family. A wife, little kids. Well, little when he last saw them four years past. Betsy could hear him yelling. She tried to force herself to her feet, but her legs wobbled in protest and she realised that everywhere ached and she lacked proper feeling in her extremities.

Option B, then.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and forced herself to regulate her breathing. Focus on the minds of those unfamiliar. Everyone but her teammates. Warren and Brian would understand. They knew the risks. They’d always known the risks. Focus.

Something exploded nearby, causing the truck she was crouching behind to slide around. Elizabeth threw her arms up over her heard. Breath. Focus. Fo -

“Care to share your hiding place?” Remy asked, collapsing beside her. “We have company.”

“W - what?”

“Company. Who, I don’t know, but right now, any enemy of that lot are _mes meilleurs amis_.”

Elizabeth listened to the fight happening just feet away. There were different types of guns being fired. Different shouts, different cars.

“I’m gunna kill Emma Frost,” Logan said, dropping down on Elizabeth’s other side, grinning from ear to ear. He was covered in blood and his clothes were in tatters, but he looked thrilled. “I’m gunna bloody kill her.”

“What’s going on?” Betsy asked.

“Lemme get my breath back, and I’ll go help out,” Logan said.

Elizabeth psi-scanned the newcomers. “Oh. Oh, she is good.”

“For those of us whose powers only extend as far as exploding things, anyone wish to share?”

//Took you long enough.// Elizabeth said, as she found a familiar mind.

//Avoiding Paris was a smart move by Emma. They would of had you there.//

//You knew she’d avoid it.//

//Which is how we were able to catch up to you. Turns out M. St Croix has very few _amis_ and an awful lot of enemies. Transport was the difficult part. Petrol is hard to find. Now, are you going to help or run?//

Elizabeth glanced at Logan and Remy. //Do you have this covered? Do you really need a worn-out squad of government employees to help you?//

Jean-Philippe chuckled. //Go. We’ll clean up here. My deputy of sorts, a Mr Wilson of Canada, says he’s a Captain only I wouldn’t commission him with a ten-foot pole, is a quite like our M. Logan. I wonder if they know each other?//

//Canada is a big place.//

//I mean, he’s like M. Logan in that he heals. Is there something in the water there? He’s also possibly insane and knows his way around heavy artillery.//

//If that’s a euphemism…//

//Go,// Fantomex said, //We’ve got this, and you don’t need to see what we do next. Keep playing hero, Betsy. It suits you. Emma too.//

//Godspeed, Jean-Philippe,// Elizabeth said, and forced herself to her feet, albeit doubled over to keep out of the path of stray bullets. “We’re leaving right now,” she said to Logan and Remy. “It’s Fantomex and the Resistance and some Canadian fellow named Wilson.”

“Oh, that bloody - ‘course he’s still alive.”

“You know him?”

“Now you name him, yeah, I know his scent,” Logan said, standing up. “Absolute maniac. He stayed in Dunkirk when everyone else was moving out. God only know what he’s been doing since, but now I can hedge a bet.”

“Less talk, more running,” Remy said, as they ducked and weaved their way out of the fight, in what Elizabeth prayed was a westerly direction.

“One more thing,” Elizabeth called above the gun fire, “Emma said it worked.”

“What worked?” Logan asked.

“Getting Kurt and Rogue back to England.”

They had to sprint to keep up with Remy.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Elizabeth, Remy and Logan caught up to Emma and Warren four miles from Calais. Remy embraced Emma, and Elizabeth explained the arrival of Fantomex and his band.

“I’m sure I told you I knew what I was doing,” Emma said, though her voice sounded far away, and there was no disguising that her every step was an effort.

Those final few miles seemed to stretch out eternally. Eventually, they passed through the township of Calais and made their way down to the seashore, which was covered in shrapnel and barbed wire, just as the eastern sky was beginning to turn grey.

“No what?” Remy asked, looking out to sea, hoping that the tide wasn’t hiding more barbed wire in the water.

“Reach out,” Emma said, turning to Betsy.

//To Scott?//

Emma nodded.

“Anyone else?”

“I don’t know.”

Elizabeth scanned out to sea. It only took a moment to find that calm, familiar mind. //Scott Summers, you are a wonder.//

//Is Emma there?//

//A little worse for wear, but she’s here. And Remy, Logan, and Warren. How far out are you?//

//Hard to tell in the mist. A hundred yards? I don’t dare come closer. I can’t risk hitting anything.//

//Do you have any telepaths on board?//

//No. It’s me, Alex, Commander Brand, and Jubilee.//

//Jubilee?//

//Emma’s secretary.//

//Miss Lee’s got a code name now?//

//I probably should have brought Monet. She’s back in Dover with Storm. I should - //

//This is fine,// Elizabeth said, happy to know Ororo was waiting for them at the other end. //Just - give us a moment.//

“Well?” Logan asked.

“Scott’s about a hundred yards out. No fliers, no other TPs.”

“I - I can’t carry anyone,” Warren said, avoiding eye-contact. “I’m sorry, but I…”

“We didn’t do all this just to drop dead on us now, bub,” Logan said.

“Take our coats,” Emma said, holding Remy’s arm for support.

“What?”

“Our coats,” Emma repeated. “It’s bloody freezing, so we’ll want them when we get to the boat. They’ll be too heavy to swim in and - ”

“And boots,” Warren said. “I can carry the coats and boots.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout mine,” Logan said, letting the torn and bloody remains of his coat drop to the sand, “Ain’t worth keeping.”

The others removed their coats and boots, instantly feeling the cold. Warren removed his coat and stretched his wings. “I’m going to do a three-way link,” Elizabeth said, touching Warren’s face. “Between you, me and Scott. I should be able to guide you to him. We won’t leave the beach until you’re on board.”

“But - ”

“When I’m in the water, it’s easier for me to link with you than him. I’ll use you as my beacon.”

Warren leant his head down and kissed her gently on the lips. “I can smell Monty burning the bacon already.”

“There’s no such thing as burnt bacon,” Elizabeth said, “It’s extra-cripsy, just the way I like it.”

Warren lifted himself into the air. //You there, Bets?//

//Right here. Scott? Warren’s on his way.//

//Eyes on the sky,// Scott said, looking up.

“What’s going on?” Jubilee asked.

“Angel’s coming,” Scott said, “I’m linked to him and Betsy. Kinda hard to talk and psi-talk.”

“Oh. Of course. I’ll - not ask questions for a moment then,” Jubilee said.

Scott, Alex, Jubilee and Commander Brand watched and waited. The mist and the darkness meant that they wouldn’t see Warren until he was mere feet away.

“This is really nerve-wracking,” Jubilee said, rocking from foot to foot, trying to her blood moving as much as keep her balance. Her hands were shoved deep into her pockets, coat collar pulled up and shoulders hunched. “Also it’s really cold. Of course, I knew it would be cold, but it’s _really_ cold.”

“They’re called long-johns, Jubes. They mightn’t be fashionable, but they sure help,” Alex said.

“I didn’t exactly have time to go home and change. M and I actually had a job to do before we met you at the station.”

“Go and sit downstairs if you’re that cold,” the Commander said.

“Once we get everyone on board I will,” Jubilee said. “Should I - I don’t know… make some sparks? Like a flare? Give Mr Worthington something to aim towards?”

“That might work,” Scott said, and relayed the thought to Betsy.

//Tell her to go ahead. Just a couple though. If we can see it from land, she’ll have to stop immediately.//

“Go ahead, Jubilee,” Scott said.

Jubilee pulled one hand out of her pocket, and slowly uncurled her fingers. “I really hope this doesn’t get us caught and killed,” she said, as a few sparks shot up from her fingertips into the sky. “Can they see that?”

“SCOTT!” came a shout from the mist.

“WARREN?”

Everyone on board looked around, and within seconds a dark shape appeared in the clouds, which then took the form of Warren Worthington as he came crashing down on deck, landing most unceremoniously, knocking Scott over. Warren lay on his back for a moment and laughed hysterically.

“What the - ” Brand felt something touch her foot and flicked on the torch and saw a selection of coats and boots scattered across the deck. “Oh, that is clever.”

“It’s our things,” Warren said, calming himself and sitting up. “Logan’s coat isn’t worth keeping, but everyone else’s is there.”

Brand shone the torch at Warren. “You look like a damned ghost.”

Warren squinted.

“Brand, get it out of his face,” Scott said, standing back up. He pulled Warren to his feet. “Jubilee, Mr Worthington needs warm clothes and hot drink, pronto.”

“Yes, sir,” Jubilee said.

“Miss Lee,” Warren said, grabbing Jubilee’s arm, “That was an absolutely inspired idea.”

Jubilee beamed as she hurried into the cabin below.

//Betsy, Warren’s on board.//

//All good, Bets!// Warren said, tucking up his wings and pulling his coat on. He looked around the boat, wondering if it was one of the already legendary small ships that had been part of the evacuation from Dunkirk.

//Wonderful,// Elizabeth said. “Right,” she said, looking around at the team in the pale light, everyone with their arms wrapped around themselves trying in vain protect themselves from the cold. “Everyone can swim, correct?”

“Like a brick in a lake,” Logan said.

“What?”

“Can’t swim for shit.”

“You’re kidding,” Betsy said, feeling her stomach sink.

“Nope. There’s a reason I’m not in the Royal Marines.”

“Did you know this?” Elizabeth asked, looking at Emma.

Emma nodded. “He’s right. He’s not given water-based missions for a reason.”

“But you were at Dunkirk!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Surely, then you - ”

“Walked straight from the pier onto the gangplank and onto the ship. My unit was seconded into stretcher-carrying. No wading out into the waves and hoping for the best.”

Elizabeth swore and sighed. “Can you paddle?”

“I guess?”

“Right. I can keep Logan telekinetically tethered to me, to keep him above water. But to keep open a TP-link, and the tether… I can’t tether us all.”

“Don’t worry,” Emma said, “M. Le Beau here could have been representing his homeland in the ’36 Olympics if he hadn’t been enjoying an extended stay at the recently opened Baumettes Resort. Remy, darling, I’m sure you’d be so kind as to help me keep afloat.”

“You can’t swim either?” Elizabeth exclaimed, getting increasingly exasperated.

“In Brighton in August, yes. But I am cold and tired and haven’t eaten since - ”

//Well, who’s fault is that?// Elizabeth snapped.

Emma’s shoulders dropped and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, for - ” Betsy kicked the sand. //You owe me one hell of an explanation, understood?//

//I don’t answer to you.//

//Well, maybe you should.//

“Time to go,” Emma said, fighting to keep her voice from cracking, “Or do you want to stand on this beach til we get company?”

“Logan, please stay by my side,” Elizabeth said, as she waded into the water. The cold was close to paralysing, but until they were aboard the boat, she couldn’t afford to feel anything. //Warren?//

//Bets?// Warren asked.

//We’re on our way. We’re all linked in. Sorry if it gets a bit noisy.//

//I think I’ll sing,// Logan said, //Anyone doesn’t like it, well, go jump. _There were ten German bombers in the sky_ \- //

//Emma and I are right behind you, Betsy// Remy said.

//You could sing too, Elizabeth,// Emma suggested.

Betsy went to snap at her, but noticed that Emma wasn’t being facetious.

//I’m sure you can think of something better than darling Logan.//

// - _And the RAF of England shot one down_ \- //

The water lapped at Elizabeth’s waist. //Warren. I need you to sing.//

//Out loud?//

//No, in your head.//

// _\- There were nine German bombers in the sky - /_ /

//Sing along with Logan?// Warren asked.

//Anything but that,// Betsy said. //And you’re not to stop til you have us in sight.//

The was a pause. Betsy and Logan jumped a wave, and were unable to touch the bottom on the other side.

// _Drop thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease -_ //

// - _Yes, the RAF of England shot one down -_ //

Elizabeth swam on, able to feel the four minds of her teammates linked in with her own. She focused on Warren’s song, and thought about telling Logan to bloody shut up, but noticed the singing and bravado was being used to mask his fear, and decided to let him keep going.

_//The beauty of thy peace. Breathe through the heats of our desire…//_

_// - The RAF of England, the RAF of England…//_

Something splashed in the water in front of Betsy. As she bobbed over a wave, she heard shouting and saw a smattering of lights rising into the air. //LOGAN! Reach!!// Betsy flung herself forward and grabbed the life ring, Logan awkwardly taking hold too. They were pulled through the water, and found a tangle of arms to haul them on board.

Elizabeth and Logan scrabbled aboard, each coughing up mouthfuls of water. Elizabeth shivered violently, and she gradually became aware of others around her, mostly Warren who had wrapped her in a towel and was holding her while she coughed up the last of the water. “I - where - ah…”

“I’ve got you,” Warren said. “There are warm, dry clothes in the hold. Logan’s just gone down to change. He - I don’t think he swallowed quiet so much of the Channel as you did, dear.”

The world was becoming tones of grey as the sun made its slow ascent. Elizabeth looked around the small boat, and saw Abigail Brand at the helm, Miss Lee lurking by the top of the hold, and Scott and Alex Summers looking out into the gloom at the back of the boat.

“Oh no,” Betsy breathed.

“Bets…”

Elizabeth tried to stand up, but her legs gave way. Warren held onto her. “I can’t feel them,” she said, looking up at Warren. “I - we were all linked. They were there in my mind, but now I can’t feel them.”

“EMMA!” Scott yelled into the abbys.

“I can’t feel them,” Betsy said, as panic and helplessness threatened to devour her. “I can’t feel them…”


	25. Chapter 25

Betsy could still see the gardens dappled in sunlight as she and Brian ran and played amongst the trees. The grass and leaves were so vivid and green, with multitudes of flowers throughout the grounds, from wildflower meadows to the perfectly cultivated beds. The gardeners would often shoo her and Brian out of the flowerbeds, away from the kitchen garden, especially when the strawberries were fruiting, out of the fountains and ponds, and off the good lawns.

If they weren’t running away from a grumpy gardener, then they were running off from their nannies. Soft grass underneath their sandals, sun hats tied on firmly by some nervous nursemaid, unbuttoned cardigans flapping behind them like like capes.

Though Betsy was the older of the twins, Brian was always taller, bigger, stronger, faster. But he couldn’t hide from Betsy.

“That’s cheating!” he’d call.

“No it’s not, no it’s not!” Betsy would laugh, as her magical glittery butterflies would lead her to wherever he hid. They would wrestle and laugh and go and find some new trouble to get into. The butterflies were instinctive, almost primal. As her telepathy and telekinesis had developed in her teenage years, Betsy concentrated more about on focus required to use these new, stronger powers, and less about the butterflies.

Betsy could smell the freshly cut grass, the roses and lavender, the fresh white loaves with strawberry jam, and lemonade waiting for them in the nursery. It was always sunny and pleasantly warm, without being too hot. There were ponies to ride, chickens to chase, dogs to play with, staff to pester.

“No dinner until you retrieve your things from the garden!” Nanny would say, sending Betsy and Brian back out to find their liberally discarded hats and cardigans and sandals and skipping ropes.

“Use your butterflies, Betsy!” Brian would say, “We’ll find them quicker with the butterflies.”

Elizabeth shivered, and Warren held her upright.

“As soon as Logan reappears, I’m taking Betsy down to the hold and changing her clothes. She’ll catch her death like this,” Warren said.

“No…” Betsy said, keeping her eyes closed, trying to stay in the garden. _Anymore tricks?_ , she’d asked Emma, when all along it was Betsy holding the final card. It wasn’t an issue of focus, for this to work she had to relax and let her instincts take over.

“Betsy, you’re freezing, and - ”

“Woah!” Jubilee exclaimed. “That is not me. My sparks aren’t that colour, and they’re definitely not butterfly-shaped.”

“It’s me,” Elizabeth said softly. “Don’t touch them. Just - just watch. They’ll lead the way…”

Warren wrapped his arms tightly around Elizabeth, and they all watched the psi-butterflies float off the end of the boat. Some meters away they stopped and hovered. Elizabeth was vaguely aware of the commotion on board. Logan appeared from the hold, bundled up in warm, dry clothes, and lined up to help.

Commander Brand knelt down in front of Warren and Elizabeth. “Psylocke?” she said, taking Betsy’s hands.

Elizabeth opened her eyed as she felt a warm sensation which began in her hands travel up her arms.

“Next time,” Brand continued, “May I suggest trying that little stunt prior to having a meltdown. Come and change before the others need the space.”

Betsy must have already been dreaming, because she could have sworn that the Commander’s hands were glowing. She allowed Brand and Warren to help her to her feet and escort her below.

…

Scott sat on the narrow bed in the hold, Emma’s head resting in his lap. She was bundled in blankets, but still felt bitterly cold. He absent-mindedly twirled strands of her damp hair. Warren and Elizabeth were cuddled together and covered with blankets and coats, asleep on the floor. Remy had fallen asleep on the small chair, his head resting on the desk-cum-table-cum-work bench.

The door opened and Logan came down the stairs. He sat down heavily on the bottom step. “Brand reckon’s we’re still a good two hours away,” he said. “It’s gunna take both her and Alex to navigate us home, and hopefully to the intended port. ‘Ro really couldn’t have done any more?”

“These are fair conditions for December,” Scott said. “The cloud cover and mist is important to keeps hidden.”

“Rhetorical question, Slim,” Logan said.

Scott looked puzzled.

Logan shrugged. “Well ya are. Always thought you were a skinny bloke from that photo on Ems’ desk. Doesn’t matter how many coats and layers you wear, you still are.”

Part of Scott wanted to smile, but he realised that he wasn’t sure how to.

“She’s gunna be all right, Slim,” Logan said. “I’ve smelt death, and those on the fast track to it. She ain’t well, but she ain’t dying.”

“She’s so cold…”

“Heart’s still beating, though,” Logan said. “And that’s what counts for now.”

…

All day Rachel’s stomach had been in knots. She’d hardly touched her breakfast, and had forced down some lunch after Kitty told her to she had to eating _some_ thing. They’d both been distracted in class, but the teachers were quite used to days when certain students would be present in body, but their minds far away.

Rachel wanted to be mad at Scott for not having called that morning, though she prayed it was because he was busy. When the bell went at the end of the day, Rachel and Kitty quickly collected their hats and coats and hurried to the twin’s prep school across the road. On Fridays the two schools finished at the same time, so collection of the twins fell to the older girls.

The twins raced across the school yard towards their sisters.

“You’re not to cry,” Rachel said by way of greeting.

Sophie bit her lip, and Celeste asked, “Are mummy and daddy going to be home when we get home?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said, taking Sophie by the hand.

“I don’t want to go home if they’re not home yet,” Celeste said, standing at the edge of the pavement between the school and the footpath.

“Come on,” Kitty said, holding out her hand, “We need to get home before it gets too dark. Kurt and Rogue will be there. I’m sure Kurt will have dinner cooking.”

Celeste dug her heels in and crossed her arms. “No. I want mummy to come and pick me up.”

“She’s been gone for weeks, Celeste,” Rachel snapped. “Stop being ridiculous. Emma never picks any of us up from school. Dad gets home before she does. Stop being a baby, and come on.”

“No, I want mummy!”

“Fine then, you can just spend the weekend at school by yourself,” Rachel said, and marched off down the path, Sophie holding her hand and Kitty behind her.

//They’re just little girls, Ray.//

//Well I’m tired and cold and hungry and want to go home. I’m not their mother.//

//Rachel -//

“I’m scared too, Kitty!” Rachel cried, turning around.

Kitty stopped. “I know,” she said softly, looking at the ground. “But I don’t want us to fight."

Rachel sighed and looked back at Celeste. //Well, come on.//

Celeste sprinted up the path, and took both Kitty and Rachel’s hands. The four girls walked home hand-in-hand, taking up the whole width of the footpath.

As they turned into their street, they say Nathan approaching from the other direction.

“Hullo, girls!” he called and ran to meet them outside their house.

“You’re early,” Kitty said, as Nathan had to catch the bus to King’s College School.

“Mr Drake let me go early. He said I had literal waste of space all day, and he’d rather I spend the time searching for my brains and hopefully return with them on Monday,” Nathan explained.

“Gosh, well I doubt you’ll find them here,” Rachel teased.

Nathan gave her a playful shove.

Kitty reached into her pocket to pull out the house key, but the door opened.

“DADDY!”

“DAD!”

“HELLO DADDY!”

“SCOTT!”

“DAD’S HOME!”

“Give me your bags,” Scott said, and the children all dumped their bags unceremoniously outside the house, “I’ve got some very important errands for you to run.”

“Are you tired, daddy?” Celeste asked, flinging her arms around Scott’s waist. “Because you look tired and you’re using your midnight air raid voice.”

Scott rubbed Celeste on the back. “I’ll sleep well tonight, I’m sure,” he said. “Now, hopefully the shops will still be open and you can get some supplies. Make sure the chemist is your first stop,” he said, handing one list to Rachel, and another to Nathan. “Here’s a basket and the ration books. Get whatever you can, you can get the rest in the morning.”

Kitty took the basket and noticed the ration books and identity cards sitting inside. Everyone in the main street knew the Summers family, but they took their ID cards all the same. Peering into the basket, Kitty eye’s widened as she noticed that Emma’s ration book was in there too. Kitty looked at Rachel, and Rachel looked at Scott.

“Dad, is - ”

“Quick!” Scott said, “It’ll be completely dark in under than an hour. I want you all to hurry home. There is a lot to be done.”

“Wait,” Nathan said, “Is…”

“Oh my goodness, Nathan, you have the worst telepathy ever! Come on,” Rachel said, grabbing Sophie by the hand and stepping over the school bags. “We have to run.”

“We’ll be really quick,” Kitty said, as she and Nathan took Celeste’s hands. “We’ll be right back, Scott.”

“Everyone be careful!” Scott called. “Don’t fall over or run into a lamppost.”

“Rachel, is - ” Sophie began.

“Yes, they’re home!” Rachel grinned and skipped. “They’re all home!”


	26. Chapter 26

It was the first time Betsy has left their flat since returning home a week ago. She had spent the best part of the first few days in bed, with Warren in the spare room at Hank McCoy’s orders to keep them quarantined from one another until the good doctor could be sure that neither had caught anything contagious. In theory, it was a good idea, but in practice Betsy and Warren had been very bad at obeying doctor’s orders when given a few moments in the house alone.

The past couple of days of enforced bedrest had been harder. Betsy’s strength had returned after a number of comparative banquets three times a day. Monty really worked wonders with their ration allowance. A few nights of twelve hours of sleep, a very long daily bath, Hank tending to her physical injuries, Warren for additional physical needs, and Ororo to talk to about the emotional stresses, had allowed Elizabeth to begin her official debrief to record the facts of what occurred.

When she’d left, Warren had been happily propped up in bed (now back in their own bedroom) with the wireless on, the morning papers, and a hot cup of tea to keep him company. He was still procrastinating on beginning his report, and Elizabeth didn’t blame him.

Betsy had navigated public transport to make her way from Mayfair to the Summers’s south London home. The trees were bare, but the streets still covered with leaves. She admired her reflection in the windows of the other houses, thinking how smart she looked in her well-cut coat, polished boots (rather than shoes, to hide the fact that her badly blistered feet and ankles were still bandaged), and jauntily-set hat. It had felt nice to get up and dressed, made-up, and to do her hair with purpose.

Elizabeth knocked at the door, and got no response, as expected. She smiled to herself and dropped her psi-barriers.

//It’s only me. Someone needs to check you’re not dead. I drew the short straw.//

Betsy picked a piece of lint off her coat while she waited. A moment later the door opened. Emma looked her up and down. “You recovered well.”

“You look terrible,” Elizabeth said, looking at Emma.

Emma’s hair was unbrushed, she was terribly pale, and she was wearing a dressing-gown over a jumper that Betsy guessed belonged to Scott, over her nightgown. “Just a little bit of hypothermia, a bout of pneumonia, and a multi-day migraine after forcing my way through anti-telepathy barriers, but it’ll take more than a bit of a cough and a fever to kill me.”

“I - I can come back. If you need to rest, or…”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, you’re here now. According to darling Doctor McCoy, I’m not infectious and apparently on the mend.”

Elizabeth stepped inside and removed her hat, coat and gloves as Emma closed the door and lead the way into the drawing room. “I just boiled the kettle if you want to get a drink,” she said, collapsing onto the armchair closest to the fireplace. “You’ll have to make it yourself though.”

“I - no, thank-you. I’m fine,” Betsy said, looking around. The house was spotlessly clean, tastefully but uniquely decorated, and unmistakably the home of the extended Summers clan. She’d visited before, but always for a dinner, and had assumed the house had been cleaned up for the event.

“You have met Scott,” Emma said, reading Betsy’s surface thoughts. “Yes, it’s always like this. Well, mostly, anyhow. Miss Lee assisted in the finding of a place in Kensington to store Rogue, Remy and Kurt while I can think of something better to do with them. I should be able to get Kurt refugee status, Remy’s French paperwork checks out, so he can stay for now, but Rogue’s a bit of an issue. Technically she’s American, but has no paperwork for the US or France. She’s not even sure what surname she used when she first travelled to France. Oh well, that little conundrum will keep Miss Lee out of trouble until I’m back in the office.”

“What - ”

Emma coughed. “Sorry. Rogue and Kurt were living here. I allowed them to stay on for a couple of days after we returned, especially given initial concerns over Remy’s health. But I needed them gone. Scott got my dear Miss Lee on the case, and within hours she’d located a lovely two bedroom flat in Kensington, opposite Holland Park, going cheap. They moved in on Wednesday.” Emma paused and cleared her throat subtly. “Just because I’m currently invalid doesn’t mean I’m totally incapable.”

Betsy smiled. “So Kurt and Rogue are quite well?”

“Both are still a bit on the skinny-side, but otherwise better than expected. Plus, if you didn’t know, you’d think they’d grown up together,” Emma said. “The children rather fell in love with them, but they’re not pets and we needed the house back. It was too much to have Scott’s office and this room full of unexpected guests.”

“What will happen to them now?” Betsy asked.

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “I suppose they’ll keep working for us. That’s why I need the paperwork sorted out. They’ve more than proven themselves at any rate.”

Elizabeth crossed her legs. “And Logan?”

“I received a telegram yesterday. He’s spent most of the last week in an inn called The Red Lion, so of course I have no idea which of the dozens of Red Lion’s that was, but apparently he’s in fighting form, and ready to go once more whenever I call. So I suppose he’s now shut up in whatever hovel he calls home when in London.”

“He’s got a cottage out near Richmond Park,” Betsy said, “He likes to go hunting. Or stalking, at any rate.”

“Really,” Emma said, trying to suppress a cough. “Well there you go. What about Warren?”

Betsy shrugged. “As well as can be expected. I think he’d rather like to see Kurt, though.”

“I assume the feeling is mutual. I’ll give you the address before you go.”

“Thank-you,” Betsy said. “So, it sounds like Miss Lee and Miss St Croix rather had everything under control in our absence.”

Emma scoffed. “Oh, please. Don’t let them hear you giving them too much credit or they’ll get a rather inflated idea of themselves."

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. “Ororo’s filled me in on their adventures.”

“Miss Munroe needs to decide whether she’s going to take the dive once and for all, or stick to her pretty little position with the Red Cross. I understand why Miss St Croix opted to stay behind as a body-guard of sorts, not knowing that her darling brother had been removed from the scene, and knowing all too well what would happen if she were caught. She a very good actress, but it doesn’t take much to see that she’s really just a scared kid who’s lost too much. Miss Munroe on the other had doesn’t quite have the same excuse.”

“That’s not - ” Elizabeth began.

“It’s perfectly fair.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“Then stop being so transparent.”

“Isn’t what Ororo does the same as Scott?”

Emma bristled. “You have no idea what Scott does. Ororo can’t have her cake and eat it too.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Of the weather witch?” Emma rolled her eyes. “Please, Betsy darling. You know me better than to suppose I’m _jealous_. But now come on. You didn’t cross town on a chilly winters morning to talk idle gossip with little old me when you have a needy husband at home.”

Betsy leant back into the couch. “An explanation, please.”

“Really?” Emma said. “After all that, you really need me to explain?”

“Yes!” Betsy exclaimed. “I don’t understand. Why would you come? You didn’t need to come with us.”

“You’re my team.”

“Yes, I understand that, but - ”

“No, Elizabeth, you don’t understand. You’re _my_ team. I found you all, brought you together.”

“That’s what team leaders do.”

“I pay for it, Elizabeth! I pay. With my money,” Emma exclaimed, and coughed.

Betsy was taken back. “What?”

Emma swallowed. “There’s only so many times I could send you away and stay sitting at my desk, not knowing if you’d come back. I’m undecided if I’ll be following you again, though.”

“I still don’t understand,” Betsy confessed.

“When I first set up the team, I received some funding for supplies. Weapons, coats, boots, fake papers, that sort of thing. That’s why you always took your own aircraft, or Commander Brand assisted where she could. No one is going to fund a crack-team of mutants run by woman. And a married woman with children, at that.”

“Who do you report to, exactly?”

Emma raised her eyebrows.

“Classified?”

“Classified.”

“But we get paid,” Elizabeth said. “Every fortnight…”

“Because I pay you.”

“But…”

“It’s my money, Elizabeth,” Emma said.

Betsy bit her lip. “Why didn’t you say?”

Emma shrugged.

“Does Scott know?”

Emma nodded. “Obviously.”

“But - ”

“I have my own money,” Emma said, “A lot of it. Of four siblings, I’m the only one still standing, so lucky me got all the inheritance. You really think one can afford a place like this on a couple of civil service salaries?”

“You pay for the whole team?”

“And supplement Miss Lee’s wage, but she doesn’t know that. There’s no way those stupid school boys in the mail room should be getting more than her.”

“But - ” Betsy said again, her mind reeling.

“Yes, I am officially an employee of the SOE. I have a very high ranking when it comes to classified information. You’re all official SOE employees. But who’s going to pay for a married mutant mother to run her own team? I guaranteed your safety, which was why we _had_ to get Warren back. Because it was on me.”

“No, that’s - ”

“Have you ever looked at your paycheques?” Emma asked. “Have you ever noticed that you’re paid more than Warren because you’re team leader? You earn more than Commander Brand, thanks to messed up salary laws. But my team, my rules.”

“I - I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Emma said. “Because I didn’t want you to.”

Elizabeth readjusted her legs again. “So what happens now?”

“I’m taking at least the next month off. Scott’s booked a sprawling house in the countryside down south. 12 bedrooms, a hundred acres of land. Alex is coming too, but other than that it will be perfect.”

Betsy looked at the photos around the room of the five children, Scott and Emma. “You’ve got so much to lose…” she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.

Emma smiled and coughed lightly. “No, you’ve got it back-to-front, darling. I’ve got everything to fight for.”

…

 

February, 1944.

Special Operations Executive

Baker Street

London

 

Emma looked at the papers on her desk. The plans were brief, but papers from COSSAC didn’t appear on one’s desk without awfully good reason. There were no instructions or notes, but Emma understood that further information, and hopefully funding, would follow. Nothing would happen until late spring at the earliest. She smiled. Those ass-hats were going to get what was coming, and then some. The summer could not come quickly enough.

There was a tap at the door, and Jubilee stuck her head in. Emma closed the COSSAC file. “The team’s all here, Miss Frost.”

“Thank-you, Jubilee,” she said as she placed the file in the bottom desk draw. Then she sat up straight, removed her reading-glasses, placed her elbows on the desk and entwined her fingers, “I guess you best send them on in.”

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From some holidays you come home with a tan and some tacky souvenirs, and from others you come home with an idea for a 44,000-word fan-fiction (visit Lyon. It's a brilliant city). But that's finally all for this story! Thank-you so much for reading, and for all the kudos and comments. It means a lot. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!


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